Harry Potter and the enigma of the night
by Vlad Moonshade
Summary: Harry is mourning the loss of his godfather, Sirius Black, but the sorting of his affairs raises even more questions about his past. In this, his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry has to face an increasingly odd Draco
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Where There's a Will...

The sun had begun to rise over the suburb of Little Whinging. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it had crept up from behind the horizon, driving the darkness from view and replacing it with a pale, clear blue sky. Various species of birds, distinguishable only by their chirruping song, reacted accordingly to the arrival of dawn. Few of the denizens witnessed this, however, for it was July, and at the ungodly hour of four o'clock in the morning, most people were still fast asleep in their beds.

The loud, guttural snoring noises that were emanating from Dudley Dursley's bedroom reminded Harry of this fact, and none too pleasantly. Not that this was the reason he was awake, however. Hedwig rattled her cage a little, distressed by the image of her small, skinny owner sitting stiffly on the edge of his bed, numbly watching night become day; signalling the arrival of his birthday.

He shifted his position, and looked at the pile of presents in the corner of his room. A bag messily wrapped up in brown paper caught his eye- that was from Ron. Probably some delectable sweets from Honeydukes, for Ron was definitely a connoisseur of confectionary... though it could be some practical jokes from 'Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes'- which could certainly come in handy if he felt like annoying the Dursleys more than his presence in their house already did. Harry allowed himself a smile when he glanced at the rectangular parcel lying next to it- Hermione's gift, which Harry was willing to bet his Firebolt was a book of some description. Maybe Hogwarts: A History, so that he could finally learn that 'you can't apparate or disapparate inside Hogwarts!'

Other presents surrounded these; Harry made out Lupin's writing on one tag, Tonks' on another; a pile of home-made goodies from the Weasley's, something very oddly shaped courtesy of Ginny, even a small, squashy parcel from Dobby, the contents of which Harry hadn't even needed to guess, for every Christmas for the past two years he had given him brightly coloured socks- but it wasn't the presents he had received that bothered him.

It was the presents he had not.

Sirius had died scarcely a month ago, and the fact that Harry's godfather was consequently unable to send any birthday wishes was just another in a long list of pointed reminders. His death was like a sickness- the causal agent no longer visible to the naked eye, but its effects lay dormant everywhere. Sirius' presence, or lack of it, had spread though Harry's bedroom ('Sirius never got to see it...'), the kitchen fridge ('Sirius would have liked this casserole...'), Privet Drive ('I wonder if Sirius ever saw this place?...'), Magnolia Crescent ('I first met Sirius here, only I didn't realise it at the time...'). Even when Petunia had turned the muggle telly on (Harry had laughed the first time he realised he referred to it as being 'muggle') to watch some Australian teatime soap-opera, and the preceding children's show had introduced their new pet- a black dog cruelly named Snuffles- Harry had felt the loss of Sirius more than he had probably ever felt the gain.

Hermione had owled Harry a few days ago to announce that she and Ron had set today aside, should Harry 'feel like celebrating' his birthday. 'But we understand if you don't' she had hastily scribbled. Harry had replied a neutral 'Maybe', which he felt impressed by, as feeling neutral seemed as attainable as achieving the seventh stage of Nirvana around now. He thumbed through the photo album resting on his bed for the fourth time this morning, his fingers tracing the picture of his parents' wedding, the smiling face of the handsome best man...

"I miss you," he sighed. The picture continued to smile.

Footsteps creaking the floorboards near his room distracted him from his reverie. As the noise did not resemble a languid elephant stumbling across the landing, he correctly assumed Aunt Petunia was up. A rat-a-tat of knuckles against wood soon followed.

"Potter, help me make your Uncle's breakfast, he has an important day at work," Aunt Petunia announced, briskly.

It was more of an order than a request, but still, Harry noticed it was delivered with a sliver more respect than he was used to. That's what having an armed guard led by 'Mad-Eye' Moody did for you, he supposed. Or having a school headmaster like Dumbledore. Not really in the mood for an argument, which was rare for Harry nowadays, he decided to comply with her wishes.

Descending the stairs in his jumper and jeans, having left his presents unopened, Harry entered the kitchen and immediately went to the fridge to get bacon.

'Sirius would've liked some bacon, I reckon,' Harry thought before he could stop himself. It was no good. He didn't think he would cry, but something in his guts suddenly felt squishier than it ought to. Aunt Petunia glared at him, and he glared back, causing her to drop the toast she had been buttering onto the pristine floor. Hearing her throw said toast into the dustbin, Harry shook himself out of that mild spasm of grief and concentrated on watching Aunt Petunia pull a mop and bucket out of the broom cupboard and drag it into the kitchen, whilst he pointedly didn't offer to help.

Suddenly, an owl swooped into the kitchen, causing Petunia to stifle a scream and attempt to shoo it away with a tea towel. Ignoring the distraction in an almost derisive manner, the darkly coloured owl dropped a sealed letter into Harry's hand before swooping away again, without so much as stopping for a drink of water.

"It's nothing dangerous, you can relax," Harry spat, and found himself sneering at his Aunt Petunia before he had even opened the letter. Aunt Petunia twitched nervously,

"Your G.C.S.E. results, then? Or whatever the... th- your equivalent is," she asked curtly, in an uncharacteristic display of interest in Harry's schooling, though he knew it was because she knew Dudley would be expecting his G.C.S.E.s sometime soon and Aunt Petunia was no doubt hoping to show off to the neighbours. Harry shook his head. He hoped not- if they were his O.W.L. results, the fact that they had arrived in a black envelope did not bode well. Then he remembered a conversation between Ron and Hermione.

"Ten thirty sharp on the fourteenth of August, the letter says... Oh, I don't think I can wait that long without knowing!"

"Knowing what? How fantastically well you've done? What about the rest of us, Hermione? The ones that aren't blessed with such humongous brains?"

"I was just saying..."

"Yeah, me too... Here, surely you can lend me some of your dazzling brain power for when I do my N.E.W.T.s... or re-sits!"

Curiosity getting the better of him, Harry quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a letter in the same black paper, with what appeared to be a silver watermark printed across it bearing the legend 'W.F.A.' Opening it out, he began to read the silver script that covered the black paper.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter,

It is with great sadness we send you this letter, as it officially signifies the demise of the late Mr. S. Black, his life tragically cut short at the age of thirty-six in mysterious and violent circumstances...

"What on Earth is this?" Harry whispered angrily, as though expecting an answer. None came, so he gritted his teeth and continued to read, skipping over any adjectives such as 'gory', proper nouns such as 'Azkaban', verbs such as 'depressed' and any phrase that began with 'tragic waste of a human life'.

...which is why, as the last of the Blacks and with many friends to honour, and debts to pay, we at 'Wizard Final Affairs ltd.' cordially invite you to attend the reading of Mr. S. Black's last wishes in order to distribute his wealth accordingly on the 31st July 1996 at 2pm. Please be prompt.

Yours Sincerely,

Graham Iscariot, M.D. of the W.F.A.

'We help you Rest In Peace of mind.'

Harry felt himself blanch in shock. Sirius had left a will? How was that possible, he had been a convict on the run!

He was distracted by a knock at the door. Petunia went to answer it before he could, though, but he heard remnants of the conversation.

"Why would you need to see him? Who are you?... N- no, don't come in, I'll get him... HARRY!"

Harry followed the screech of his favourite aunt (he only had the choice of her and Aunt Marge) and found himself face to face with his former professor, Remus Lupin. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, dressed in muggle clothing that served to make him look stranger to Harry than if he'd turned up to Little Whinging in full wizard regalia and a pom-pom hat, and carrying black robes that appeared slightly less shabby than his usual attire.

"Hello, Harry," he said. Aunt Petunia brushed past them both, shooting a nervous, but disgusted glance at Lupin before she hurried away from the front door and along the hallway.

"I rather think your aunt wishes I was not here," he added, glancing neutrally at the woman in question as she bustled into the kitchen. He looked more tired and pale than Harry had ever known, and also more hairy, as though personal grooming had proven difficult these past few weeks. Harry could understand why; he hadn't felt much like taking care of himself for the first week since Sirius had passed on, and Lupin had known him since Hogwarts.

"Doesn't matter," Harry replied, gruffly, "come in."

Lupin wiped his feet carefully on the welcome mat and Harry directed him to the living room.

"Sit down," he said, gesturing to a chintz sofa which Lupin perched gingerly on, before leaning back into it in a more comfortable manner.

It was at this point that Harry noticed a piece of black paper with silver script writing in Lupin's top pocket.

"You got one too?" Harry asked. "I though it was some kind of cruel joke."

Lupin laughed softly,

"It's hardly the most... sensitive of methods," he replied, "but it is no joke."

"So, Sirius left a will? He hardly seems the type of person to..." Harry didn't finish his sentence out loud. He thought Sirius wasn't the type of person to accept death so readily as to be prepared for it. In a way, Harry felt slightly betrayed.

"These things work differently for wizards than muggles," Lupin said. After a mildly awkward pause, he added, "I came over here to see if you wanted to come to the reading with me. I imagine you've never been to one before and I can't say I'm all that personally familiar with the process myself."

Harry smiled properly for the first time in three weeks.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. What do I need?"

"Just some black robes- your school ones should be fine."

"Okay, I'll just go and..."

A tiny fluttering owl suddenly entered Harry's peripheral vision. Quickly, it flitted straight across the doorway of the living room and dropped a letter onto Harry's head instead of his outstretched hand. It fell to the floor before Harry could catch it, so he stooped down and picked it up from the floor.

"It's from Ron," he said to Lupin, having recognised Pigwidgeon straight away. He opened it up and read the hastily scribbled note, as Lupin fed the little messenger bird some water from a goblet he had conjured furtively from his wand, as though he was anxious of Aunt Petunia's reaction if she saw him.

Hey Harry,

Did you get one of those black letters today? I'd imagine so- Mum and Dad got one, so they're going to Sirius' reading. Mum wanted to know if she should pick you up. Me and Hermione could come too, if you, y'know, want us there. It's cool if you don't- we understand. It's entirely up to you.

Let me know A.S.A.P.,

Ron.

P.S. If me and Hermione do come to meet you, for heaven's sake don't mention the O.W.L.s to her- she's doing my head in about them, and she's only been here half an hour!

Harry laughed, and found it didn't create the feeling of guilt it had last Thursday. Feeling grateful for having friends he couldn't even bring himself to speak to just half an hour ago, he quickly scribbled a reply in the affirmative to Ron and Hermione's company, but informing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he and Lupin would be making their own way there, and sent it back with the excessively excitable Pigwidgeon. Vaguely wondering if Lupin had put anything in the water to make the owl act even more animatedly than usual, Harry quickly grabbed his robes from upstairs. On his way back down, he heard voices that indicated Aunt Petunia had found Harry's greying ex-professor sat in her living room.

"Remus Lupin, that's right."

"You... you were at the, erm, railway station, yes?"

"Yes, I was. As were you."

"Yes."

The awkward silence was lifted slightly by Harry's returning presence, at which Aunt Petunia exhaled slightly.

"Well, your uncle will be up soon, Harry," she said, with a pointed expression. Harry understood the meaning behind it.

"We'd better go," he said to Lupin. "We can catch the Knight Bus to..." He pulled out that black letter again, but it didn't help.

"To wherever it is we have to go," he finished.

Lupin stood up, his back straightened, and replied, "London. Practically everything you find in the Wizarding world is accessed from London. We need to go to Acacia Avenue, specifically. That's where the W.F.A. is based."

Aunt Petunia followed them through to the hallway, as though she thought they might change their mind about leaving and hide in the cupboard under the stairs- otherwise known as Harry's old bedroom.

Lupin stuck out his hand in the direction of Harry's Aunt Petunia.

"Well," he said, "it was nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley..."

Aunt Petunia made no response; she merely flashed a nervous pseudo-smile that caused Harry to roll his eyes, however hard he fought the impulse. Lupin pulled his hand back slowly and placed it on the handle of the front door.

"Shall we?" he asked Harry, who nodded, and without so much as a backwards glance at his aunt, followed Lupin to a secluded area of Privet Drive to summon the Knight Bus.

Chapter Two: The Last Reading of Sirius Black

The Knight Bus stopped outside Acacia Avenue in such an abrupt manner that Harry had to pull a particularly small wizard out of his lap, who had ended up there purely by the power of physics.

"Sorry," the wizard managed to gasp as he scrambled to his feet and arranged his robes in a more dignified manner.

"S'okay," Harry replied, as he yanked his left leg away from Lupin's collarbone and pulled himself up into a sitting position. Lupin stood up and brushed himself down with his hands.

"Well, here we are," he announced to Harry, who then stood up himself and made his way to the doors.

"Thanks, Stan," he said to the bus conductor, who grinned.

"Cheers 'Arry," he replied. As Harry stepped off the bus he heard Stan nudge his colleague and whisper, "See- he knows me, Ernie! I can make small talk with Harry Potter!"

Lupin stepped off the Knight bus, which subsequently vanished with a loud 'pop', and Harry noticed they were stood in a grimy back street, containing a few terraced houses and a handful of shops with blacked out windows and luminous red neon signs offering... well, offering the sort of thing Harry didn't want to mention in front of Lupin.

It was then that Harry noticed the slightly out of place building halfway along the small street. It was a library. Not the picturesque, Gothic-style buildings reserved for libraries of university institutions, but the concrete and steel utilitarian-style buildings circa 1960 reserved for urban branch libraries, doctors' surgeries and Birmingham Bull Ring.

"This is the place," Lupin announced, unnecessarily, for Harry had noticed the gaggle of redheads congregating near the entrance. The Weasleys' had arrived, and a certain bushy haired school friend of Harry's accompanied them.

"Harry! Over here!" Hermione called, waving madly in his direction. He and Lupin made their way over to the crowd.

"Hey, Hermione, hey, Ron," Harry said, greeting them as soon as he got close enough to do so without having to shout. They smiled and asked him how he was doing, and if he had liked his birthday presents.

"Erm..." Harry felt himself blush. "I haven't actually opened them yet."

"Not to worry, mate," Ron said, "it's not like they won't keep. Well, I'm not sure about Fred and George's. I think whatever they gave you may still be in the experimental stage..."

They both laughed.

"Honestly, Bill- can't you take that thing out? We're at a reading, for heaven's sake!"

"Relax mum, look- the fang is black, it's perfectly in keeping with a mourning service..."

Harry glanced over at Bill and Molly Weasley, who were having the usual parent-child arguments over sartorial differences in opinion. Though he had to admit, even when dressing for a funeral, Bill somehow still managed to look cool, all hardwearing black cotton and leather plus a pair of wraparound sunglasses that peeked out of his top pocket, sunglasses that he had the good sense not to wear in light of the overcast sky. He gave Harry a sympathetic smile and nod, which suggested he would have come over to offer his sympathies were his attire not being so rigorously inspected by his mother.

Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, greeted him with a manly handshake and his sympathies over Sirius, which Harry accepted graciously, though eager to change the subject, having become fully aware of the mountainous grief he would be forced to experience once they entered this building. Fortunately, Mr. Weasley saved him the trouble of steering the conversation to something less mournful.

"Fascinating, isn't it, this muggle architecture- such innovative style," he remarked, clearly impressed by the library building. One glance at Hermione's scrunched up face however suggested that muggle-borns, at least, found such Twentieth Century design work slightly less appealing.

"Shall we go in then, Harry, love?" Mrs. Weasley asked, after giving Harry a hug tight enough to squeeze seventy percent of his oxygen supply clean out of his lungs. Harry looked at his piece of black paper and his heart seemed to slowly fill with lead. He nodded, and felt a hand squeeze his.

"It'll be alright," Mrs. Weasley whispered, and Harry felt it was directed at both him and Lupin, judging by the look on Lupin's tired, lined face as he stepped up to the windows of the library.

He traced the pane of the lower left window in a clockwise direction with his wand, followed by tapping each corner in an anti-clockwise pattern. Suddenly, the ground adjacent to the stairs on which they were all standing warped and disappeared, leaving a wrought iron staircase spiralling down into the darkness.

"It's just down here," Lupin announced, and led the way down, followed by Harry, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Ron, Bill and Mr. Weasley.

The banister and steps shone slightly in the darkness, which was just as well, Harry thought, as there was scant else about to aid in navigation. The entire space was pitch black, and it seemed as though the staircase would go on forever.

"I hope this ends soon, I can't see who's in front of me!"

"Ouch! Yes, that would be me, Ron."

"Sorry Hermione, but your black robes really don't show up very well against this black background, if you get my drift..."

"Oh, shut up."

Harry fought the urge to grin. It had started; he knew it would. In fact, he was surprised it had taken Ron and Hermione this long to start bickering over something or other. Whenever they were together, the need to quarrel with each other seemed second only to oxygen in their daily requirements, and Harry had now learned to see the funny side of it, instead of the irritating one. At this point, Harry remembered that he was descending a staircase in pitch darkness, and so had no need to conceal his silent mirth.

Almost as soon as he had finished his fit of silent giggles, the dark warped and shifted, and he clung onto the banister in shock. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, an ornate silver door appeared directly in front of him. On closer inspection, the door appeared to be carved with a huge depiction of Death, one hand holding a large scythe, the other an hourglass on a chain- though it was much bigger than the one Hermione had been using in her third year. Managing to find himself both impressed and vaguely horrified by the morbid engraving, he stepped forward to voice his concerns to Lupin, and instead found himself face to face with a man just a few inches taller than himself, with long dark-blonde hair that was tied back off his face. He was clean-shaven, which showed off a small scar on the side of his chin and the heavy lines on his face. His hazel eyes travelled languidly across Harry's untidy hair and down his forehead, stopping briefly at the lightning-bolt scar, then resting their gaze upon Harry's glasses.

"Ah, hello there, young Harry!" he said, and beamed sympathetically with the practised air of one in the business of customer relations. He then lowered his voice and whispered, "so sorry to hear of your loss."

The man then grabbed Harry's right hand and shook it vigorously.

"My name is Graham," he announced, at which point he gestured towards his name badge, which read 'Graham Iscariot- Reading Specialist'. "I will be conducting the reading today... I notice you were admiring our entrance way?"

Graham seemed so pleased at this; Harry didn't want to offend him by stating otherwise.

"It's... thematic," he replied, hesitantly. Graham smiled.

"Isn't it just?" he enthused. "Though we are thinking of updating it- scythes and hourglasses are a little 'B.C.'." He laughed at his own joke. Harry nodded and smiled in a way he hoped didn't look too fake.

"We were thinking of getting a new engraver in to replace them with a lawnmower and a carriage clock," Graham added, by way of an explanation. Harry hoped this was a joke as well, but had little time to consider it, as before he knew it, they had all been ushered into a small white room containing a number of stiff-looking black chairs lined up along the back in two groups of ten. A red aisle ran along the middle, bisecting the seats and leading to a long black table that stood proudly at the front of the room. Harry noticed a large cauldron surrounded with rune stones had been place in the centre of the table.

"I wonder what that's for?" Hermione whispered, and Harry realised he wasn't the only one who had noticed it.

"Dunno," he replied. They both looked at Ron, who shrugged.

"Beats me," he answered. "I've never been to a reading before."

Graham was talking sombrely with Lupin near the table, as a few more wizards and witches filed in, most of whom Harry recognised as being members of the Order. Charlie was there too, talking to Tonks. On having seen Harry sit down, they both got up and walked over to him.

"Alright, Harry?" Tonks asked, in a more subdued manner than usual. It took just a moment to register with Harry why she seemed more affected than the rest of the Order, until he remembered that she was related to Sirius more than Harry was. He supposed having only known him for such a short time couldn't have been much fun for her, either.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he replied, looking softly at her. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She sniffed. "Considering everything that's happened..."

In that moment, a special understanding seemed to pass between them, as Tonks placed her hand over his and gently kissed the top of his head before going back to her seat. Charlie looked a little uncomfortable.

"Sorry, Harry, I just don't really know what to do in these situations... I'd say how sorry I was, but I bet you've heard it so many times it wouldn't mean anything anymore. Or I could say he's gone to a better place, but how do we really know where he's gone now?" he rambled in a low voice, shuffling a little from one foot to the other. Harry smiled sadly at him.

"It's okay Charlie," he replied, "I don't really know what I should do or say either."

"True, true," Charlie said with a nervous laugh. "I reckon none of us really know what to do, except maybe Mum and Dad, and Dumbledore. Think about how many readings they attended the first time around?"

They both fell silent as the implications of Charlie's words hit Harry with the force of a sledgehammer thrown from the top of the Eiffel Tower. His parents- they must have had one of these. Had Dumbledore attended that too?

A few seats away from him, he caught a glimpse of Dumbledore, who, on feeling Harry's gaze, turned to face him. Harry felt himself colour up under his gaze. He had yet to apologise for trying to destroy his headmaster's office in a grief-stricken rage only last month, and despite the gravitas of his assured place in the Second War, he had felt rather ashamed of his behaviour ever since the hindsight had kicked in.

Not that he got the chance to act upon his feelings, as Lupin sat down beside him and Graham Iscariot began his 'reading'.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness the reading of Mr. Sirius Black, respected colleague, esteemed friend and convicted murderer..."

Graham stared at the piece of parchment from which he was reading in horror. The assembled crowd shot angry glances across the room, at which Graham shifted uncomfortably and mouthed his apologies.

"Ahem- yes, anyway... With the passing of time must come the passing from one world to the next, at which one must arrive prepared, with his affairs well in order. We assist Sirius' safe passage into the new life, by complying with the wishes he made whilst in the old."

At this point, Graham lifted up a pocket-watch, which Harry recognised instantly as Sirius', and placed it carefully into the cauldron. The cauldron hissed and bubbled, spitting bright blue sparks out across the room at such a distance that Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked to avoid contact with them.

Once the volatile concoction had subsided, Graham carefully picked up a quill and drew up some of the liquid into its tip. He then laid it against a piece of parchment, at which the quill began to write by itself. He repeated this for a subsequent nine quills, all of which began writing by themselves onto separate scrolls, which then automatically rolled up and sealed themselves when the quills stopped writing.

One of the pieces of parchment was much larger than the others; Graham pinned this piece to the wall behind the table. It stretched and expanded until it was the size of the wall itself, and the writing was clearly legible, in Sirius' own hand, from the back of the room. Graham began to read aloud the words.

"To Albus Dumbledore, I bequeath the secrets and confidences that are no longer mine to protect; they remain herein with you and not me, for the good of our cause."

Hermione looked intrigued.

"How do you bequeath secrets?" she asked Ron in a whisper. He paused for a moment in contemplation.

"Mum, how do you bequeath secrets?"

"Shush Ron! You just can and do- you never know what could happen to such delicate information in the beyond."

"To Arthur and Molly Weasley, I bequeath the sum of 10,000 Galleons- a poor price for your care, but the best I can offer in appreciation and love."

"To..."

Harry had zoned out at this point. It just didn't matter to him. The reading seemed at once a tacky affair- who cares what he's left? The only thing Harry was conscious of Sirius having left was a gaping hole where he should be still living, existing...

Which, Harry suddenly remembered, was all his poor godfather had been able to do. Exist. If only he'd survived a few more months, would the Ministry have finally cleared his name...?

"To Remus Lupin, I bequeath my most personal possessions referred to in the Last Parchment, and the sum of 10,000 galleons."

"Last Parchment?" Harry wondered aloud.

Lupin bent his head towards Harry's ear and whispered, "Those self-sealing pieces of parchment. The idea is that Sirius' last wishes and thoughts before he..." He coughed a little before continuing. "They are collated and sorted, so that each person receives one of those scrolls containing information of a more... personal manner than that which is being read out now."

Harry nodded in response.

"And finally, to my godson Harry Potter, I bequeath my old family house, to be held by Remus Lupin until you turn eighteen. I hope you find more happiness there than I did. I also leave the sum of 50,000 galleons, also to be held by Remus Lupin until you turn eighteen."

Harry was stunned. The house? Suddenly, his dreams of leaving the Dursleys' had taken a huge step forward into tangible reality. Of course, he would have to wait until he was eighteen, but then, he would have to wait until he no longer needed the protection of Number 4 Privet Drive as well- until his fate had been decided at Voldemort's hands.

Why couldn't he just have a nice normal life, like most other kids his age? He looked across at Ron and Hermione. He still hadn't told them what the prophecy had said. He still hadn't decided if he should, or could, or even would.

People were getting up. It appeared the reading was over, except that all these people were making their way towards the table.

"It's for the scrolls," Lupin whispered, seeing the look of puzzlement on Harry's face.

"Oh," he replied. "Should we go too?"

Lupin shook his head.

"They call your name when it's time- didn't you hear them call Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head, embarrassed at his wandering thoughts. Lupin merely smiled at him.

"Well, when they send you the black letter, they've already done a preliminary reading to see who's likely to get a Last Parchment. If you don't come to the reading, they send the parchment off to you with an owl."

Hermione was craning her neck to see the people at the table.

"It's incredible," she remarked, enthusiastically. "Mr. Weasley was explaining to me how the system works- even if the person who has passed away wanted to leave something to someone who's name they didn't know, the person doing the reading can actually identify their real name and an address!"

"Yeah," Harry replied numbly, "fascinating."

Hermione clasped her hands over her mouth.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry," she exclaimed. "I didn't mean to keep going on about..."

To his great surprise, Harry found himself laughing at Hermione's excruciating embarrassment.

"It's okay Hermione," he said, smiling. "It's okay."

"Hermione Granger, Remus Lupin, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley" Graham called out. Lupin stood up.

"That's us," he said.

Hermione looked at Lupin as though he had just asked her to dance the Tarantella along Regent Street.

"Me? What kind of message would Sirius have wanted to leave me?"

"Well, if you went up there, you'd find out!" Ron said, prodding her in the back as he did so.

At the table, Harry was handed a pretty ordinary looking scroll, save for the iridescent seal that appeared to be made out of some kind of precious metal. He was wondering how exactly he should open it when he overheard one of Graham's colleagues in a heated discussion.

"Look Graham, couldn't it just be wrong?"

"No, damnit! These readings are never wrong. That is who is supposed to receive this Last Parchment!"

"But we sent an owl with the invitation, but he never found the bloody woman. Poor Gabriel returned with his feathers all in a mess- he'd been half-way around the world and didn't encounter her!"

"Then send another owl with this Last Parchment. She's got to be somewhere!"

"What if she's..." The voice trailed off.

"Dead? If she was dead, the owl would have returned with confirmation of the fact, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, you're right. I'll send out Mercury- she's our most experienced owl..."

"Good man..."

As he was listening, Harry's fingers slid over the parchment seal, and suddenly, the entire metallic seal melted over his fingers and spilled onto the floor, disappearing into the thick red carpet. The scroll uncoiled open, exposing an entire side of writing.

Dear Harry, my favourite godson,

Well, okay, you're my only godson, but that doesn't make you any less special to me. I'm guessing Dumbledore has told you about the prophecy. I wanted to tell you earlier, truly I did, but he felt it best to keep it quiet. I'm sure he had his reasons. What I'm trying to say I guess is not to worry about it. Yeah, I know that is a stupid thing to say, but I don't want you to spend the days you have at Hogwarts in fear or paranoia. Enjoy yourself, because who knows what may happen? I'll be honest with you here, you may survive; you may not. But at least you know that if you make it, you'll be making it in a better world that I did. Look after yourself. Have fun with Ron and Hermione, get yourself a girlfriend, do really well in your N.E.W.T.s and make your parents proud, etc., etc. We'll meet again one day in the next world, I'm sure. I just hope it's much later rather than sooner.

As for the house- do what you like with it! Redecorate it, find a way to get rid of that blasted painting of my mother, sell the place or even burn it if you like. As long as it makes you happy, it'll make me happy. Same goes for the money- do what you want with it. I wanted Remus to look after your financial affairs concerning me because I trust him implicitly to do the right thing for you, and to let you have a say. So, if you happen to be hankering after a new broom... well, you might just be able to persuade him. Take care of yourself Harry, and don't ever forget how much I love you.

Sirius

X x x

"What did yours say?" Ron asked. Harry looked over to where Lupin was quietly reading his scroll, appearing absorbed in the last words of his closest friend.

"Nothing much," Harry found himself saying. "Just to take care of myself, and not to worry too much about school. Yours?"

"Nothing much," Ron replied. "Just asking me and Hermione to take care of you, make sure you get into trouble at school."

They both laughed. It was typical of Sirius to pride rule bending above anything else you might care to learn in a school education.

"Wonder what Hermione's said?" Ron asked. Hermione had looked surprised enough when she had received one of these parchments, but Harry noticed her look positively stunned when she read the contents.

"What does it say?" Ron asked, straining to see. Hermione clutched the parchment to her chest, scuppering Ron's chances of reading it over her shoulder.

"I... I don't understand it at all. It just doesn't make any sense!"

Harry placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Look," he said, "I'm sure he didn't want to offend you or anything..."

"No," Hermione replied in a slightly vexed manner, "I mean I don't understand what on Earth it means!"

She pushed the parchment into Harry's hand, and he and Ron began to read it.

I don't know what you saw in him!

"Eh?"

"That's just what I thought," Hermione explained. "That is so frustrating! It isn't exactly like..." She stopped suddenly, and looked at Harry shamefaced.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..."

"It isn't like you can ask Sirius what he meant," Harry replied, finishing the sentence Hermione had left hanging, much to her horror.

"It's okay Hermione. I know," Harry said, though he fought to hide his suddenly flaring temper. The same gaffe twice in as many hours was a pretty bad track record for Hermione.

Ron was turning the parchment over in his hands, as though a lucid message may appear as the result of such action. Eventually, he gave up.

"Hmm, 'don't know what you saw in him'? Hey!" Ron shouted as the congregation began to shuffle out of the room. "Maybe he meant Vicky?"

Hermione scowled.

"Viktor, Ron. His name is Viktor."

Ron stared after her.

"Well, he wouldn't be the first person to think it," he replied, sulkily, but in a volume so low that only Harry could hear it. Harry smiled, but not in agreement with Ron.

"I wonder," Ron said aloud, "who the tenth scroll was for?"

"Huh?" Harry's curiosity was piqued at this. Ron looked at him.

"Yeah. Well, they called up Mum, Dad, Dumbledore, Tonks, Lupin, Hermione, you and me. That's eight. The other big scroll was pinned to the wall for the main reading- that's nine. What about the tenth one?"

"Yeah, I wonder," Harry replied, remembering the argument Graham had been having. Sirius had never mentioned any women to him, much less any that were making themselves difficult to find.

Who was she? 


	2. Chapter 2

"What are you waiting for, Potter?"

"The post."

"For letters from your freaky friends?"

"No, Dudley, for my O.W.L. results."

"What are they?"

"They're the wizarding equivalent of your G.C.S.E.s..."

"Only freakier?"

Harry sighed. Over the past month, Dudley had got over his fear and loathing of Harry Potter... well, over his fear, anyway. His loathing still burned brightly, spurred on by that small incident of a Dementor attack last August, which was hardly Harry's fault. Still, the dislike was indeed mutual, but lately, Harry found he simply couldn't be bothered to wind up his cousin anymore.

Well, most of the time. Today he felt the urge for payback overcome him.

"Yeah, freakier. If I pass, they send me a special new wand. I get dispensation to use it on your girlfriend..."

"Try anything on Tina, Potter, and you're going to get it!" Dudley hissed, threateningly. Harry brought his hands up to his face in an expression of mock terror.

"Oh, I'm scared Dudley. Are you going to get your friends to beat me up?"

"Actually," Dudley grinned maliciously. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea- thanks, Potter!"

Harry thought fast, "But what if I use magic to defend myself?"

Dudley seemed to consider the embarrassment of this, as his face took on an expression usually reserved for the constipated.

"Just leave Tina alone, okay?" he replied, tersely.

The very concept of Dudley having a girlfriend still brought tears of laughter to Harry's eyes, even more so when he remembered the photograph he had seen of this Tina. She was about Dudley's height (and Dudley was tall), unbelievably skinny (which Aunt Petunia continually described as 'willowy') with a large, bulbous nose, giving the overall impression of an upside-down ladle with hair. The mental picture Harry had got of this supremely thin girl arm-in-arm with the supremely fat Dudley had kept him laughing for an entire week, despite his Uncle Vernon threatening to lock him up in his bedroom again. Being the alleged 'mortal enemy of the Dark Lord' somehow made such threats seem either a little empty, or a little insignificant.

He looked at his watch: five to ten. Soon, very soon, his O.W.L.s would arrive and, as Hermione had so often said, his entire life would be affected.

"If you don't revise,' he remembered her warning him before they sat their exams. "Then you won't do well in your exams, which means you won't be able to take any N.E.W.T.s, which means you won't be able to get a decent job, and will spend your adult life unfulfilled and resorting to buying strange drugs off strange men in order to blot out your meaningless existence!"

He also remembered how he and Ron had tried, and failed, to hide their amusement, and how unimpressed Hermione was with the next fifteen minutes they had spent clutching their sides in fits of laughter.

"Fine," she had retorted, huffily. "Treat it as a joke- you'll be laughing on the other sides of your faces come results day!"

Harry hoped that Hermione was over-exaggerating. He really did want to do well at his O.W.L.s, as the thought of becoming an Auror had become increasingly appealing since the end of the last school term. Which reminded him of how he would have to take up Potions again with Snape. He silently cursed at the realisation- he had been hoping to have as little as possible to do with the greasy-haired potions professor, which initially had involved the thought of dropping said subject at N.E.W.T. level. However, if her wanted to be an Auror, he had to have a N.E.W.T. in Potions, as well as Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Harry felt his heart lunge into his mouth as an owl recognisable as one from Hogwarts swooped into his field of vision and neatly dropped a small brown envelope into his lap. It pecked grudgingly a little at some toast Harry handed it, with an air that suggested it would be much happier with a dead rodent of some description. After taking some water from Harry's glass, the owl flew out of the house, leaving Harry alone with the envelope that he had been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.

He lay it down carefully on the table in front of him and just stared at it for a few seconds, as though opening it straight away may somehow jinx all his results. After steeling himself for a moment, he tore the letter open, no longer able to put off the awful, exquisite moment one second longer. Opening the letter out in full, Harry managed to read as far as the 'O.W.L. Results for Potter, Harry James: Astronomy' before Dudley had snatched the letter out of his hands.

"Well, Potter, let's see how you've done..." Dudley sneered, his eyes scanning the page. Suddenly, he let out a howl of derision, which made Harry cringe- what had he got?

"You've got a bunch of 'E's- You're even a rubbish freak!" he laughed uncontrollably. Harry snatched the paper back. E's? Had he really got some 'Exceeds Expectations' in his O.W.L.s? His nerves jangling uncontrollably, he read the rest of the results parchment.

O.W.L. results for Potter, Harry James:

Astronomy-A

Care of Magical Creatures- E

Charms- E

Defence Against the Dark Arts (Double Award)- O

Divination- P

Herbology- E

History of Magic- P

Potions- O

Transfiguration (Double Award)- E

Harry couldn't help it- he literally whooped for joy, something he had never once imagine he'd do in relation to schoolwork. Three Os! He had somehow managed to get three Os! A quick look at what subjects he had gained the Os in caused him to burst out laughing so violently that Dudley jumped.

"What's so funny, Potter? You've done rubbish... haven't you?"

Harry continued to laugh.

"Nah- I've done pretty well, actually."

Potions. One of his Os was in Potions. Snape was going to go spare, he was sure of it. Yet somehow, Harry had a mental image of the professor demanding a remarking of his paper from the Ministry replaying in his brain that merely made him laugh all the harder. His O in Defence Against the Dark Arts technically counted as two Os itself, and came as little surprise- he also reckoned every member of last year's DA would have come away with at least an E. So, he failed Divination and History of Magic- who cared? He hadn't even failed them that awfully. He had nine O.W.L.s!

'I wonder how Ron and Hermione have done?" Harry thought to himself, then instantly stopped. In his head, he was beginning to sound like Hermione. He'd be interrogating them over which subjects they were going to continue for N.E.W.T. level next.

He suddenly wondered if Sirius would have been proud. Silently, he cursed himself for thinking in such a way. Of course he would be, except he isn't here to tell him. One day, maybe- he thought back to Sirius' letter- Sirius always keeps his promises, one way or another. And hadn't Luna told him Sirius was beyond the veil, just waiting for him?

A knock at the door distracted him. Dudley ran to answer it, which struck Harry as odd- since when did Dudley rush to do anything? Then a thought struck him- he was waiting for Tina. The fact that he straightened his shirt and checked his breath was a dead giveaway.

"Hey Tina, come in," Dudley said, as he opened the door to let his girlfriend into the living room. Harry was surprised that he hadn't been told to get out.

A skinny, surly looking girl who was at least four inches taller than Harry stood in the hall doorway, leaning her shoulder against the door-jam. She looked contemptuously at Harry.

"Who's that?" she asked Dudley, as though Harry was a particularly distasteful puppy dog that had urinated over her best shoes.

"Oh that's my cousin, Harry. He's not like the rest of the family, he's a bit, you know..." Dudley tapped the side of his head to emphasise his point. Tina nodded slowly.

"Sit down," Dudley offered. "I'll get you a drink."

"Sure," Tine replied, and slouched into the armchair that Harry recognised as being Uncle Vernon's favourite. She glared at Harry.

"So," she drawled. "You're the one that's at St. Brutus'?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, in as threatening a manner as he could, "that's right."

Tine looked silent for a moment, then replied, "cool."

This took Harry aback, and it must have shown, as Tina continued.

"Do you know a 'Bruiser' Smethwick?" she asked.

"No. Is he in the fifth year?" Harry asked, hoping that Tina wouldn't realise he didn't attend, for his sake, as he dreaded to think how Uncle Vernon would react if their cover was blown and their 'shameful family secret' uncovered.

"Nah, sixth. Used to go out with him. He set fire to the new Starbucks in the local mall with a bottle of vodka and a rag," she replied.

"Nice!" Harry managed to keep the sarcastic tone out of his voice. Just.

"It was pretty wicked," Tina replied with a smile.

"So," Harry felt he ought to at least attempt some kind of conversation. "Which school are you at then? Smeltings' only takes boys, so I guess you can't be there."

Tina laughed.

"I'm at St. Martins Grammar School for Girls. Also known by the neighbouring boys' schools as the 'Virgin Megastore.'"

Harry tried to cough away a dry throat.

"Right. Nice."

Dudley returned with a drink for Tina, and an angry glance for Harry, who shrugged.

"Hey D," Tina called. "You said you were going to show me those new boxing gloves. You know- in your room?"

Dudley looked confused for a moment, then, as though someone had turned the dimmer switch in his mind up to full brightness (which for Dudley, Harry mused, probably only created an moody glow), he smiled.

"Yeah, yeah I did- erm, up here." He gestured towards the hallway.

Dudley had one foot on the bottom step of the stairs when there was a knock on the door. Tina giggled.

"I'll get it- did you ask Piers round?"

"No, but he might just turn up anyway."

Tina opened the door, and looked surprised and askance simultaneously when faced with a tall, lanky ginger haired boy who peered at her suspiciously and asked, "Is Harry about?"

She shrugged.

"Yeah, he's in there," she replied, gesturing with her thumb to the living room. Harry heard her ask Dudley, "Who's the Ginger Ninja?"

"Probably one of Potter's freaky friends, don't worry about it," he replied irritably, as Tina followed him upstairs.

Ron stood in the doorway of the living room and whispered, "Who's the string-bean?"

"Oh, Dudley's girlfriend..."

Harry added an, "I think," onto the end of the sentence, but it was masked by Ron's hysterical laughter.

"Dudley? Bloody hell, they look a right pair! He'd just have to hug her and she'd snap!"

Harry had just about adjusted to the bizarre fact that his school friend was actually in his house and not being insulted by Dudley in any way when he asked,

"What are you doing here, Ron?"

Ron pulled a mock expression of hurt.

"I've come to see my best mate, of course! Your suspicions wound me!"

Harry smiled.

"You know what I mean." Harry pointed at his piece of parchment. "So, how did you do?" he asked. Ron sighed.

"You're turning into Hermione! Very well," he replied, handing Harry his parchment. Harry went to take it, when Ron pulled it away from his grasp.

"You show me yours first."

"Oh, no way! How about we show them at the same time," he suggested, handing his piece of parchment to Ron.

"You take mine, and I'll take yours- on the count of three."

"Okay, one- two- three!"

The two boys swapped their parchments. Harry began to read.

O.W.L. results for Weasley, Ronald:

Astronomy- A

Care of Magical Creatures- E

Charms- E

Defence Against the Dark Arts (Double Award)- O

Divination- P

Herbology- A

History of Magic- P

Potions- O

Transfiguration (Double Award)- E

"Pretty cool, huh?" Ron said with a laugh, "Can you believe I got an O in potions? Mum was well chuffed- I think I might be in for a new broom-keeping kit!"

Harry laughed, "Yeah, cool- and at least I have some moral support in Snape's potion classes... you are taking potions, right?"

Ron grimaced,

"Well, I do fancy the idea of being an Auror, so I kind of have to. I think we should get onto the Auror training course purely for putting up with Snape for another two years! Hey Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah?"

"You failed Divination too?" He raised his hand into the air. "Put it there, mate," he laughed, as Harry slapped his hand.

After a few more minutes of reciprocal congratulating, Harry paused.

"Do you know how Hermione did?" he asked. He hadn't heard from her, and he was a little worried, as he felt sure she would owl him the second she got her results if they were as good as she'd hoped. Ron grimaced.

"No, I haven't. Well, that's another reason I'm here. I figured perhaps we should pay Hermione a visit. I know I've been banging on about her and her constant 'Do you think people often fail O.W.L.s? How long do you think re-sits take? Oh, you don't think they'll kick me out, because I'm really not sure about that Ancient Runes exam?'" Ron did a quite passable impression of Hermione as he said all this, "but I reckon she's really worried and could do with some support. Or someone to boast to, at least," he finished, rolling his eyes. Harry laughed.

"Sure, but how are we going to get there?"

"Oh, Bill's parked round the back."

"Parked?"

"Yeah- turns out Sirius left his old flying motorbike in my older brother's capable hands. He's been loving it- of course, it helps him keep his cool levels up when he goes to visit Fleur," Ron replied, grinning. "So, you up for it?"

"You bet!" Harry replied, and then thought a moment.

"Wait, do you think Dumbledore..."

"Hey, Bill's taking us, isn't he? The way things are at the moment, the Order are having to account for every time they go to the toilet, much less take a trip around the country," Ron answered. Harry smiled.

"Okay then, I'd better just tell..." Harry paused as he tried to think of a single reason why the Dursley's would care where he'd gone.

"Nah, sod it, lets just go."

Bill was sat astride Sirius' vintage motorbike as though he was posing for a magazine. He glanced up at the two boys who had now appeared by his side.

"Bloody hell Ron," he exclaimed, "could you have taken any longer? Hey Harry, how are you doing?"

Harry smiled at Bill.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Holding up, you know?"

"Yeah, listen, I'm sorry I didn't get to say anything at the reading..."

Harry waved his hand across his face, as though to literally push the words away from his ears.

"It's cool- let's not talk about it now. I don't really want to go through it all again," he replied. On seeing the embarrassed look on Bill's face he hastily added, "It's not you or anything, I wasn't offended, really!" He breathed hard through his nose and exhaled sharply, stuttering, "thanks for your concern and everything..."

Bill smiled and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

"It's cool. Now," he looked at Harry and Ron and asked, "either of you know the way?"

Ron pointed up at the sky.

"Somewhere in that direction?"

Bill laughed and smacked him gently around the head.

"Yeah, really helpful, bro. Now," he announced, handing them both a bike helmet. "Safety first!"

Harry looked at the two-seater motorbike.

"Erm, Bill? How are we both going to fit on?"

Bill hit himself on the forehead with the back of his hand, in retribution for his forgetfulness.

"Oh shit, of course- nearly forgot!"

He stepped off the motorcycle and pointed his wand at it.

"Adquiro curulis," he commanded, and a sidecar appeared attached to the bike.

"Yeah," he replied, "if one of you gets on the back and the other sits in the sidecar..."

After precisely thirty seven seconds of arguing over who got to ride pillion, which was settled by a quick game of paper, rock, scissors and a promise that the loser could swap places on the way back, Harry got onto the back of the bike while Ron clambered into the shiny chrome sidecar. Bill kicked down on the pedal and started the bike up with a roar of the engine and a vibratory hum that caused Harry's glasses to shake a small way down the bridge of his nose.

"Cool, huh?" Ron remarked, grinning from ear to ear as Harry pushed his glasses back.

"Yeah," he replied, as they took off into the sky.

Harry watched as the houses and trees shrank before his eyes, and shivered as the bike began to go so fast, he could feel the chill of the resulting air current. The cold and the dampness got so much, that he had to take his glasses off at least three times to wipe away the condensation. He remembered how he and Ron had used his dad's Ford Anglia to travel across the UK in their second year, and how much trouble they got into when they had been spotted by a group of muggles...

"Erm, Bill?" Harry asked, "aren't we going to get spotted up here?"

Bill laughed.

"Nah- the bike's been charmed with a distraction spell, makes anyone who tries to look at it get a sudden compulsion to do something far away from the object in question. Handy spell," he added, with the inference that he would teach it him sometime.

"Wow!" Ron exclaimed as he leant over the sidecar to get a good look at the urban spread below, which looked like one of those model villages your parents inevitably took you to stomp through as a child. He exhaled deeply in satisfaction.

"We must be a hundred feet up! How cool is that?"

Harry saw Bill glance at a dial next to the speedometer.

"Ninety feet, actually, but we'll probably go up to one hundred if we come across anything really big."

After a while, Harry felt his ears start to pop. He swallowed to counteract the sensation, then looked over Bill's shoulder and saw the ground being to rush up towards them. Involuntarily closing his eyes, he felt the bike bump and skid to a halt. Upon opening them, he saw that they were parked in a street not a million miles away from Privet Drive in terms of its appearance.

Ron got out of the sidecar, and Harry followed suit by jumping off the back of the bike.

"Hermione's house should be just around the corner," Ron said, studying a muggle map that he had clearly 'borrowed' from his dad, as it had been charmed to produce a glowing pink circle around one small area labelled 'Hermione's house' in the same colour pink lettering, and a glowing green arrow bearing the legend 'you are here'.

"Well, I've got a bit of work to do, so I'll pick you guys up from this point in a couple of hours, okay?" Bill explained. Harry and Ron nodded.

"Yeah, sure thing, bro."

"Thanks for the lift, Bill!"

Bill smiled.

"No problem," he replied, and with a rumble of engine and a whiff of smoke, he was gone.

After following the map, they arrived at a perfectly normal looking house, complete with latticework on the windows and a mock Tudor exterior. Harry pressed the doorbell.

"What does that do?" Ron asked, "Does it summon the person you want to see?"

"In a manner of speaking, "Harry replied, "It makes a noise so that people in the house know someone is at the door. Saves you knocking on the wood."

Ron contemplated this.

"That's pretty clever, actually," he mused. Then his expression turned sour.

"Do you know what this means?" he exclaimed. Harry shook his head.

"Becoming fascinated with muggle objects? It means I'm turning into my dad," Ron sighed. Harry tried not to laugh.

A tallish man with cropped brown hair answered the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked. Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"Is Hermione here?" Harry asked, "we're friends from school..."

Mr. Granger put on his glasses and peered at them.

"Of course!" he replied, his face having flashed with recollection. "Harry and Ronald, I recognise you now. Come in, come in... perhaps you'll have better luck getting Hermione to come out of her room than we've had."

Ron looked concerned.

"Why, what's the matter?"

Mr. Granger sighed.

"She got her O.W.L.s today, I think. Well, she received a letter from an owl, and ran upstairs. That was two hours ago, and she hasn't come back out."

Harry and Ron stepped into the house, and could clearly see Mrs. Granger standing by a shut door, saying, "Hermione, honey, it's okay, whatever it is, it isn't the end of the world... please come and talk to us, dear," in soothing notes. On seeing the two boys in her house, she smiled at them and added, "Hermione, your friends are here to see you!" in an equally soothing tone. She nodded to them to come upstairs, and they followed.

"Maybe you'll have a better chance," she whispered. "Would you like something to drink?"

They both nodded in the affirmative. Mrs. Granger went downstairs to the kitchen, and Harry rapped on the door with his knuckles.

"Hermione? It's Harry. Ron too. Can we come in?"

A sniffle was audible.

"S'pose," came the uncharacteristically monosyllabic reply. Harry turned the handle of the door and walked in, followed by Ron.

Hermione was sat on her bed, pieces of parchment by her side. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, but she managed a weak smile for them both.

"Hi," she sniffled. Harry looked at her with worry.

"Hermione? What's the matter?" he asked, striding forward to sit next to her on the bed. She shrugged her shoulders and pointed towards a piece of parchment that Harry could see had the words 'O.W.L. results for Granger, Hermione' printed on the top. Before he could take a look, Ron had picked up the parchment and was reading it, his eyes widening as he did so. Once he had finished, he shook his head sadly and handed it to Harry for his inspection.

Opening out the parchment, Harry began to read. He couldn't believe his eyes.

O.W.L. results for Granger, Hermione:

Ancient Runes- O

Arithmancy- O

Astronomy- E

Care of Magical Creatures- O

Charms- O

Defence Against the Dark Arts (Double Award)- O

Herbology- O

History of Magic- O

Potions- O

Transfiguration (Double Award)- O

He was about to say something, but was interrupted by Ron.

"Hermione, you great noodle! These are amazing! Eleven Outstandings and one Exceeds Expectations! How can you possibly be upset?" he paused for a moment, his expression incredulous.

"You aren't upset about the bloody E, are you?"

Harry looked at Hermione for her answer, and she shook her head.

"No," she replied, "I'm just a bit... I don't know... I know you don't believe me, but I really wasn't expecting to do this well..." She burst into tears again. Harry tentatively put a comforting arm around her. Ron was still looking at her as though she was quite mad.

"And you're upset? I swear I will never understand you girls," he said, shaking his head. He picked up another piece of parchment that was lying on her bed, and began to laugh as he read it.

"Or maybe it was this? The letter that states you got the highest O.W.L. results of the entire year? Oh, you poor thing!"

"Oh, shut up, Ron," Hermione hissed, though the impact was lost with her having to sniff halfway through her words. Ron just laughed.

Harry continued to gently pat her shoulder, but it was Ron that managed to bring her out of her shock.

"So" he asked, "Have you thought about what subjects you're going to do at N.E.W.T. level then?" Hermione smiled.

"Well," she began enthusiastically. "Definitely Defence Against the Dark Arts- especially with, you know..."

"The War?" Harry finished, with an edge of menace in his voice. Hermione wilted a little, but fought to keep her composure.

"Yes Harry, the War. I also think I'll carry on Arithmancy, oh, and Potions. Maybe Charms- oh, definitely Charms, and Transfiguration..."

"Not that you've been thinking about it at all," Ron joked. Hermione blushed a little, but her voice remained indignant.

"Well, we have to send back our choices by the end of the week," she explained.

Suddenly, she looked at them both quizzically.

"Oh, what did you two get?" she asked, with fervour, clapping her hands in anticipation. Harry and Ron told her and she hugged them both so hard, Harry thought he might break a rib-bone.

"Oh, that's so great!" she exclaimed. Ron eyed her curiously.

"How come our grades are so great, yet you burst into tears at yours?"

Hermione's response was a shrug and a mumbled, "I suppose I don't judge everyone else's results as harshly as my own."

"Daft sod," Ron replied with a smile.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Hermione answered brightly. Mrs. Granger opened the door and stepped into her bedroom, armed with three glasses of squash and a plate of biscuits,

"Oh, I am glad to see you're feeling better!" she sighed, then hesitantly asked, "And how did you do in your O.W.L.s?"

Ron handed Mrs. Granger the results.

"Well," he replied. "She only got the highest marks of our whole year!"

Mrs. Granger looked at the paper with confusion etched across her face. Harry noticed and discreetly explained the wizard grading system to her, where an O is the highest grade, and stands for outstanding, E stands for exceeds expectations, followed by A for acceptable, then the fail grades- P for poor, D for dreadful, and T for troll, which Harry was still not entirely convinced by. On hearing this, Mrs. Granger beamed, and hugged her daughter with a force equal to that of the hug Hermione gave Harry and Ron.

"Oh, that's wonderful dear- wait until I tell your father!" she exclaimed. Suddenly, her face contorted into a cheeky smirk.

"It's a pity about that E, hey!"

"Oh, be quiet, mum," Hermione replied, smiling.

Chapter Four: Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes

A few weeks later, Harry was standing on then corner of Diagon alley, looking at his watch anxiously. Where were they? He had been waiting fifteen minutes for Ron and Hermione to show up and Hermione, at least, was rarely late.

"Relax- they'll be fine," Tonks replied to an unasked question. Harry looked at her, and she smiled back, brushing a hand through her bright pink hair. "How about we grab a drink while we're waiting?"

"You go," Harry offered, "I want to wait here."

Tonks faltered, but made no move to leave. Harry sighed with mild vexation.

"Look, Tonks, I don't need guarding night and day!" he replied.

"Well," she said with a tone of sarcasm, "I'm afraid the Order and the Ministry disagree with you there. Sorry," she added. Harry's shoulders sagged with resignation. Was this what it was going to be like for the next however many years? Looking over their shoulder for Voldemort? He'd rather get it out of the way- at least then he stood a chance of having a semblance of freedom.

Off in the distance, he caught a glimpse of a figure with a wild mop of brown hair that could only be Hermione. He waved at her, and she responded, so he walked up to where she stood. She was peering at a piece of parchment, whilst her parents offered gentle remonstrations.

"Now, make sure you spend that money wisely- we gave it you to buy your books with..."

"And not to rot my teeth, I know, Mum," Hermione sighed with the air of one who has been offered gentle parental remonstrations since first setting off for London.

"Oh, and one more thing," her father said. Hermione sighed once more.

"Now what, Dad?"

"Don't you 'now what, Dad' me!" he grinned, and pressed something into her hand. She looked carefully at the small box, and opened it up, pulling out a pretty cross-shaped pendant in silver and garnet.

"What's this?"

"A present for doing so well in your O.W.L.s- you know we're so proud of you!" her mother answered, giving her a brief hug, which Hermione reciprocated.

"Wow! Thanks Mum, Dad!" she exclaimed, kissing them each on the cheek. They smiled and waved her off as she joined Harry. With one last look over her shoulder and a cheery wave, her parents left.

Tonks was already admiring Hermione's new piece of jewellery.

"That's well nice," she exclaimed.

"Present for my O.W.L.s," Hermione replied. "How are you, Tonks?"

"Good, thanks," she replied with a smile.

"Hey, Harry, where's Ron?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.

"Late, I suppose."

Hermione snorted.

"Typical," she muttered. Harry glanced sideways as Tonks, who was struggling to suppress a grin.

"Anyway," Hermione continued to Harry, "have you picked up any of our books yet?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, not yet- but at least I got the subjects I wanted to do."

Hermione shot him a curious look.

"Why wouldn't you? I mean, you got all the grades required to do them."

Harry smiled grimly.

"Well, I'm surprised Snape didn't find a way to kick me out after..."

"Do you think Dumbledore would let him?" Hermione declared. Harry shook his head, but almost as soon as he stopped, she shot him a sharp glare with narrowed eyes.

"What do you mean, 'after...'? After what?"

She folded her arms in expectation of a reply. Harry shuffled uncomfortably, until a knight in shining armour appeared to rescue his from his predicament.

Well, a former knight in jeans and a robe, anyway.

"Ron! You made it, cool!" Harry exclaimed, loudly, leaving a fuming Hermione in his wake.

"Yeah, sorry- we got a bit caught up," he replied. Ginny was with him, and smiled up at Tonks.

"Hey up, little Weasleys!" Tonks said, by way of a greeting.

"Hi Tonks," Ron replied. Ginny smiled warmly at her, then turned her attention to Harry.

"I heard about your O.W.L.s. Congratulations, Harry!" she said. Harry smiled.

"Thanks."

"And you too, Hermione, top of the class, Ron says!" Ginny offered to Hermione, whose facial expression had softened.

"Pity about that E, though," she added, with an evil grin. Hermione gave her a mock scowl.

"Is that all I'm ever going to hear?" she asked aloud to nobody in particular. Ginny laughed, and took her arm.

"Well, it is if you're going to be so annoyingly clever," she said, jocularly.

Ron opened out his book list.

"Have you seen this? There are loads! I don't know how we're going to find time to read all of these!" he exclaimed. Hermione opened hers with a look of eagerness.

"Well, they look much more interesting than our O.W.L. books..."

Ron looked at her askance.

"But you spent most of your time reading those! What are you planning to do with these ones, glue them to your hands?"

Hermione ignored him. Harry opened his own list and read it for the seventh time that day.

Set books for N.E.W.T. level: Potter, Harry James

General- 'Standard Book of Spells (level 6)'

Charms-

'A Charmed Life' (recommended)

'Charms- A Practical Application in a Modern World' (essential)

'The Theory of Charms and Glamours' (essential)

Defence Against the Dark Arts-

'101 Methods of Death and Disembowelment and How to Avoid Them' (recommended)

'Advanced Guide to Dark Arts and Counter Attacks' (essential)

'Dark Creatures, Drastic Measures' (essential)

'Standard Defence Practise and the Law' (recommended)

Potions-

'Advanced Draughts and Potions, Volume Nine' (essential)

'Antidotes and Cures, Volume Seven' (essential)

'Applications of Pleiotrophic Potions' (recommended)

'Jekyll and Hyde- When Potions Go Wrong' (recommended)

'Silent Witness- The Use of Lethal Potions' (recommended)

'Truth Serums and Their Synergistic Properties' (recommended)

Transfiguration-

'Advanced Transfiguration' (essential)

'Beauty in the Beast- The Use of Magical Disguise' (recommended)

'Levels of Deception and How to Spot The Signs' (essential)

'Transfiguration Now! Applications of Transfiguration' (recommended)

They walked towards Flourish and Blotts, all the while Ron complaining how they were going to need a small trunk to carry their books to each class.

"Here, I wonder who our next Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is this year?" Ginny asked. Harry hadn't even considered this- he hoped fervently that it wasn't Umbridge again.

"Good point, Ginny," Hermione replied, "I mean, it can't be Umbridge... can it?" she finished, with a look of panic. Tonks grinned.

"If she hasn't been sacked by the Ministry yet, she certainly will have been by Dumbledore."

"So," Hermione continued. "The Ministry has relinquished control over Hogwarts?"

Tonks nodded, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, thanks goodness! I don't think I could have coped another year with that vicious, racist old trollop!"

Tonks raised her eyebrows.

"Wow, don't sit on the fence there, Hermione, tell us what you really think!"

Hermione blushed with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "But I just can't..."

Tonks' expression broke into a huge smile.

"It's perfectly alright, love. You're not the only one who's been thinking it."

They found their books quite easily, for there was an entire section of the bookshop dedicated to O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. books, shelved by subject title. Harry was slightly surprised to find that Ginny's new Care of Magical Creatures book didn't come with a health warning, although the Potions book should have had a set of wheels bound to it for ease of movement; it weighted a ton.

"Typical of Snape," Ron groaned, looking at his reading list for the sixth time that day, then looking at the shelf in front of him. "His reading list is twice the size of Flitwick's!"

Hermione ran a finger along the spine of one of the essential potion books, before picking it up and buckling slightly under the weight.

"Hmm," she commented absently, "his reading list is probably twice the size of Flitwick if you stack them up!"

Tonks sniggered a little too loudly.

"That's Snape for you- he's nothing if not thorough, but you needn't buy all the books. Just get the essential ones, and you'll probably get the rest in the library. Or you can each buy a couple and share the lot."

Hermione nodded in appreciation of the idea.

"Well, I think I'd buy some of these anyway- they look fascinating!" She picked up one of the books recommended by their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher entitled '101 Methods of Death and Disembowelment and How to Avoid Them', and ignored Ron's expression of disgust. "I think whoever this new teacher is, they've certainly thought about the defence side."

"I think," Harry added, "that whoever takes the Defence job ought to be very aware of the defence side, what with Voldemort and all."

The others flinched a little, with the exception of Tonks and Hermione.

"Oh, stop it!" Harry exclaimed, "we're likely to come face to face with him one of these days!"

"The later, the better if you ask me," Ron replied, huffily. Hermione sighed loudly.

"Oh, honestly, lets not have this argument now!"

"What, shall we just have it when we're getting killed instead then?" Harry replied angrily. Hermione stared him straight in the eyes.

"Rather that than let him occupy your every waking thought, Harry!"

"You're worth more than that," Ginny added, in a more comforting tone. Tonks also gave him a sideways glance and smile.

"The girls' have got a point- don't let him ruin your life, Harry."

"He's done a pretty good job already," Harry sighed under his breath, as he was reminded again of his parents.

As they queued to pay for their books, he felt a small, warm hand gently squeeze his arm. It was Ginny.

"It'll be okay," she whispered. Harry wanted to believe her.

Looking across at Hermione as she paid for her books, Harry got the distinct impression that they were going to have to drop their books off at the Leaky Cauldron before they went anywhere else. The pile towered over Hermione as the shopkeeper placed each book on the counter in front of her.

"Have you got a bag?" Hermione asked, tentatively. The shopkeeper laughed,

"Not a bag, I'm afraid, but we do have disposable trunks. Pay ten Knuts for a renewable one if you want my advice- they have wheels."

Every single student in the queue took that wise advice.

"Bloody hell! How much else do they want us to buy?" Ron complained.

"Don't worry Weasley, I'm sure Potter will let you share his bag, save your family remorgaging their house..."

Harry turned around and stared at the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry noticed Tonks had inconspicuously metamorphosed into a blonde-haired fifth year, and was watching them carefully from a distance.

"Great. I almost forgot. You, Crabbe and Goyle promised to band together to become pains in my arse all year," he replied, sarcastically. Draco glowered at him.

"Just watch your step, Potter," he snarled. Harry couldn't help it, and smirked.

"You look different from when I last saw you, Malfoy. Less... slimy, I suppose?"

Ron sniggered, and to Harry's surprise, Draco's cheeks coloured up.

"Just leave it, Malfoy. You're not big and you're not clever," Hermione said in a bored tone, having dragged her trunk over to where Harry and Ron were waiting. Draco scowled.

"I could say the same to you, Granger. I'm not the one whose dirty blood the Death Eaters are just itching to spill!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though Harry noticed her bristle at his comments.

"Because the Death Eaters will be far more concerned with a schoolgirl than say, a head of state?" she retorted. Draco managed a smirk this time.

"A schoolgirl friend of the great Harry Potter? I'd watch your back if I were you."

Ron stepped forward, his wand pointing directly at Draco's smug face.

"I'd watch yours, Malfoy!" he practically growled. Hermione shook her head.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you, Malfoy? Just because the Dementors let your father escape from Azkaban doesn't mean the Aurors have stopped looking for him. I'd say you have enough of your own worries to contend with, rather than getting concerned with ours. But," she smiled coldly and replied, "it's nice to know you care."

Draco glared at her oddly, then turned on his heel and walked away. Crabbe and Goyle followed, exchanging curious glances.

"Well, that was fun," Ginny remarked, as they stepped outside the shop. "Only not."

Hermione uncurled her fists.

"They're just so... idiotic!" she fumed.

"Relax, Hermione, they're not worth the effort," Harry replied, and Hermione began to calm down.

"Still," Ron grinned. "It'd be nice to get a chance to hex them in Defence or something- maybe our new teacher will let us start a Duelling Club?"

Harry closed his eyes in pleasure.

"That would be classic. Get all the DA on him!"

Hermione sniffed.

"That's a point- are we going to continue the DA this year?"

Harry considered this. To be absolutely honest, he hadn't thought about it one way or the other. It would be nice though, if they needed to.

"Maybe see what the new Defence teacher's like. Then decide," he replied. Hermione seemed satisfied with his logic.

They all walked along Diagon Alley, until they got to a shop crowded with students. It was new, and it belonged to Fred and George Weasley. Harry looked up at the large sign that read 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' and chuckled when he realised Draco hadn't said a word about it, most likely because business appeared to be booming. Almost literally, when you considered the number of children running out with their hands full of 'Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs' and the like. Ron and Hermione were going to have their work cut out as prefects this year.

Fred and George were happily manning the shop counter, and waved enthusiastically when they saw the group stand at the back, away from the thronging crowds.

"Alright kiddies- we're shutting up shop for lunch in five minutes, so bring your purchases to the desk please! And don't bother trying to nick anything- we've got charms to slice your hands off if you do!"

The crowd in the shop laughed. Harry wasn't entirely sure Fred and George were joking, though.

Soon, enough people had left to enable Harry, Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Tonks to speak to the twins.

"So, looking forward to school tomorrow, little sibs?" Fred asked Ron and Ginny. They both shrugged, causing the twins to laugh.

"Ahh, school days are the best days of your life, remember that. Me and George, we're old enough to appreciate the time we had at school. If we could have our time over..."

"You wouldn't have left a huge swamp in the school corridor and set off a bunch of fireworks in the great hall?" Hermione asked, with false innocence. George meowed at her.

"Miss Granger, you're becoming quite the feisty one, aren't you? Well, of course we would do that again! Who wouldn't take a chance to upset that Umbridge cow?" he asked. Hermione smiled.

"I have to admit I agree."

"Good for you Hermione! " Fred beamed, although the expression only served to make him look more mischievous than usual.

"So, lads, business booming?" Tonks asked. The twins grinned broadly.

"Oh yes, it's booming so much, we're going to have to soundproof the shop soon!" Fred replied. George nudged him.

"Don't forget, we had McGonagall come in today! Our clientele is improving in stature everyday!" he joked. Fred laughed.

"Oh yes, she came in to see us. Brought a colleague, too. Your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, to be precise," he added, tantalisingly. Ron's eyes grew almost as wide as saucers.

"Who is he?" he asked, urgently.

"Yeah!" Harry added. Hermione and Ginny looked on eagerly.

"There was no mention of him in the subject information we were sent this year," Ron added. Hermione looked at him.

"There was no mention of any of the teachers," she replied darkly.

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"Presumably protection, am I right?" Hermione asked Tonks, who nodded,

"That's pretty much it. What with the Second War taking shape, Dumbledore doesn't really want such information getting out to the public unless he knows about it. The Hogwarts teachers are in more danger than you might think, what with being on Dumbledore's side and all," she added.

Harry sighed. Somehow, the thought that their teachers might also be targets for Voldemort seemed to make it that little bit more real.

"And that's 'her' Ron," George added. Ron wrinkled his nose.

"It isn't Umbridge, is it?" he asked, suddenly fearful. Fred laughed.

"Oh, no no no, mon frer?" he exclaimed, "this was a real woman! Lithe and young and..."

"Fred fancied her," George added. Fred looked at him.

"I just appreciate strong women. Especially when they have come-to-bed eyes too." Here he nudged his brother. "I think I was in with a chance anyway!"

George rolled his eyes.

"So, what's her name?" Hermione asked, eagerly. Fred grinned.

"Professor Beauchamp. Persephone Beauchamp. Lovely name, exotic and French..."

"But she's English," George added.

"What's she like?" Ginny asked, specifically directing her question at George. He rested his hand on his chin as he thought.

"Hmm, seemed stern, but with a good sense of humour- she even bought one of our Skiving Snackboxes! Said she has a friend that'll enjoy puzzling out how they worked."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all looked at each other.

"She sounds pretty cool... but then so did Mad-Eye," Ron commented.

"I wonder if she'll last more than one year?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"I wonder how pissed off Snape'll be having missed out on the Defence job for the fifteenth time," Harry countered. Ron and Ginny laughed.

"That's true..."

"Oi! Are you lot going to buy something, then? This isn't a coffee shop, you know!" Fred joked. Ron directed a hand gesture at him that Harry felt certain Aunt Petunia would have blushed at.

"Where are mum and dad?" George asked.

"They're 'working', you know. Said they'd be back this evening. Mum still insists on seeing us off at the station tomorrow," Ron replied. Tonks smiled.

"Well, you two are the only Weasleys' at Hogwarts now; she's got to make the most of the three years she has left."

There was a pause.

"And also she knows you'll be safe there under Dumbledore's watchful eye," she added, her voice lowered. Harry wasn't so sure of Hogwarts, or Dumbledore, as a safe haven anymore. Not since last year, where no one had managed to protect him. Where no one had managed to protect Sirius. He felt as though he ought to get used to standing alone.

Almost as though she picked up on his thoughts, Hermione placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Whatever happens, we'll be here, you know that, right?" she asked. Harry smiled back at her.

He hoped she was right. 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Five: Train of Consequences

The next morning found Harry trundling along Kings Cross Station, his trunk and owl in hand, lagging behind the Weasleys'. Having spent a rather nice evening with them and Hermione at The Leaky Cauldron, he was feeling a little reluctant to return to Hogwarts. The very thought of everything that had happened there last year filled him with a kind of dread. Would he have to face all that again? Or worse? He knew of the prophesy now, how he was the only one who could apparently vanquish Voldemort, how Voldemort was probably the only one who could vanquish him... Yet he still hadn't told his two best friends.

"Hey, come on, Harry!" Ron called as they reached the wall that lead to the platform. Harry picked up the slack, and nearly up-ended his trunk in the process. He positioned himself between platforms nine and ten and leaned casually against the wall- the first time he had ever achieved such a feat successfully, he noted, as he found himself looking up at the wrought-iron sign that read 'Platform 9 ?'. He caught up with Ron and the others, who were a little further up the platform, to find Mrs. Weasley stood, giving her two children the usual pre-term talk.

"Now, I want you both to behave yourselves! Ginny- this is your O.W.L. year, so make sure you knuckle down. Ron, I know you've got another year to go before you start your N.E.W.T.s, but don't go gallivanting off into trouble- you might make Head Boy next year, just remember that!"

"Yes mum," Ron and Ginny groaned, in unison. Mrs. Weasley smiled in a sardonic manner.

"That's what I like to hear, dears- sweet enthusiasm!"

She turned towards Harry,

And that goes for you too, dear. You take care of yourself, all right?"

Harry nodded, his throat a little dry.

The great red steam train pulled into the station, the words 'Hogwarts Express' clearly visible along the side in gilt lettering. It juddered and ground to a halt, and expelled a sharp burst of smoke into the air from its funnel upon doing so. Hermione, who was stood next to the front of the train, visibly jumped in surprise as the train made another unexpected noise, at which high-pressured steam escaped from the same funnel.

"Oh, have a great term, I'll see you all at Christmas," Mrs. Weasley gushed, as she gave Ron, Ginny Harry and Hermione each a huge hug before they ascended the step up to the train.

"Thanks for having us, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said, as she dragged her trunk onto the carriage. Mrs. Weasley waved her hand.

"Oh, it's always a pleasure, Hermione dear," she replied with a smile. Harry pulled the carriage door shut, and they all waved out of the window before trying to find seats.

A sharp, high-pitched whistle echoed in their ears, and the carriage began to shake as the train shunted out of the station, rapidly gaining momentum and rhythm. Hermione stuffed the last of her belongings into the luggage compartment, and carried a large plastic cage out with her. Ron stared at it in disbelief.

"What on earth is that?" he asked.

"It's a cat carrier, Ron," Hermione explained, "For Crookshanks."

The agitated hissing and scratching clearly audible from the inside of the carrier indicated to Harry that Crookshanks wasn't exactly approving of Hermione's novel mode of transport for him.

"Shhsh, Crookshanks, I'll let you out in a minute," she soothed. Ron stared at her aghast.

"You're going to let him out? He sounds furious! Just don't let him near me until he's calmed down," Ron warned. Hermione tutted at him and marched purposefully forward through to the student carriages, followed by Ginny, who Harry could see was suppressing giggles. He and Ron looked at each other, shrugged, and also followed.

By luck, they found an empty compartment and sat down. Hermione pulled out her copy of The Daily Prophet and began to read, huffing every so often about how much Fudge has 'changed his tune'. Ron raised his eyebrows slightly in response, and then turned to face Harry for a game of Exploding Snap to pass the time.

"Hey guys," a voice said in greeting. Harry looked up to see Neville Longbottom stood next to him, smiling.

"Hey Neville," Harry replied, nudging Hermione to budge up, then moving up himself in turn, creating a seat for him. Neville sat down, with what could only be described as a smug grin on his face.

"What are you looking so pleased for, Neville?" Ron asked, with a cheeky smile.

"Oh, my Gran got me a new wand today- she was pretty annoyed I broke the last one- well, until she found out exactly how..."

Harry smirked, although to do so he had to block out the rest of his memories from the Department of Mysteries.

"Let's see then!" he asked, enthusiastically. Neville pulled out his wand,

"12 inches, birch with a dragon heartstring core," he announced, proudly.

"Cool," Ron replied. Hermione finally broke away from her reading to glance at Neville.

"Hi, Neville, wow- new wand... Ooh- just listen to this!" she cried, indignantly, and began to read aloud from the paper. "It's from the letters page- somebody has written in to ask why Fudge kept information of Voldemort's return so quiet, '... the Ministry stands by its decision to ensure all avenues had been explored before announcing such devastating news. Long time readers may be aware of Miss. Skeeter's previous articles, which did cast doubt upon the primary witnesses...' they haven't even apologised!" she fumed. Neville looked cynically at her.

"Well, that's the Prophet for you; my Gran says it's a load of old crock- she still hasn't renewed her subscription... You'd be best not bothering with it, Hermione."

The girl in question smiled darkly.

"I like to know what they're printing, however fictional it may be."

Harry heard a faint humming sound, which increased in volume. He turned to see the source of the tuneful noise, and found himself looking straight into Luna Lovegood's silvery, unblinking eyes.

"Hello Harry," she said, nudging Ron to move up on his seat, which he did so a little grudgingly.

"Hello Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Neville... Oh dear- you're still reading the Prophet?" she asked Hermione, who shrugged.

"It keeps me in a suitably irritated state of mind."

Luna shrieked with laughter at this.

"And all this time I thought you took it seriously! Hmm," she looked straight at Ron.

"And I take it you're feeling better than you were last term?" she asked, referring to his accident in the Department of Mysteries. Ron shuffled uncomfortably.

"All right, thanks," he managed.

The witch who pushed the food trolley every year came past them and stopped.

"Do you want anything, boys and girls?" she asked, kindly, in a manner that suggested she recognised them. She asked Ron, Harry, Neville and Hermione how they did on their O.W.L.s, to which they answered in a positive manner, whilst purchasing a selection of every flavour beans, chocolate frogs and the newly released 'Rainbow Drops' which did, in fact, contain entire rainbow structures inside a clear drop-shaped boiled sweet.

"The idea is," Ron explained, "that you suck them, and they paint entire pictures on your tongue!"

"Really?" Harry asked, his eyes widening a little at the prospect.

"Oh yeah!"

"I got a copy of the 'Mona Lisa' the other day," Ginny added.

"Just don't chew them," Luna offered, "because you tend to get these really odd squiggles and splodges. Which I suppose is okay if you particularly enjoy modern art."

Hermione absently grabbed a chocolate frog, broke it in two between her teeth before it managed to escape, and looked at the card.

"Well," she smiled, "Dumbledore's still on the cards. Coupled with the Daily Prophet claiming his previous distinctions have been reinstated, I presume he, at least, is back in the Ministry's good books."

Harry glanced at her.

"Yeah, thanks Hermione!"

"I'm just saying," she replied, unrepentantly, "that the Ministry is terribly selective over who they offer their thanks to. Which seems laughable, as they're clearly running scared. I'm surprised anybody has any faith in them!"

"I don't think anyone really does, except those that work in the Ministry," Neville replied.

"And that's all that matters," Ron added. "Dad was saying that Fudge has officially got five more years until another election can be held. The only way we'll be shot of him is if twenty odd Ministry workers sign a petition to pass forward a motion of some sort; then the whole Ministry of Magic have a vote on whether they think him competent. Sadly, Dad reckons most of them do."

Harry glanced across at Hermione's copy of The Daily Prophet.

"That's a real shame," he said maliciously, "I'd feel happier knowing that all the Ministry were doing their bit to fight and capture Death Eaters, rather than being cowardly about it all."

Luna was staring dreamily out of the window, but appeared to have been listening quite intently.

"I don't think that's all their scared of- there's the Brethren to worry about too, so Dad says," she said, in an equally dreamy manner.

Ron looked at Luna incredulously.

"The Brethren?" he asked. Hermione, Harry noticed from her facial expressions, fought the urge to scoff, and instead managed a perfectly civilised, "Aren't they a myth?"

Luna laughed.

"Well, most myths are based in fact..."

"That's legends," Hermione corrected, quietly. Luna waved her hand across her face.

"Myth, legend, however you look at it, it's entirely possible they fear the Brethren and their actions."

Harry was puzzled, to say the least.

"What's the Brethren?" he asked. Ginny looked up.

"The Brethren of Tyr. Legend has it that they are comprised of muggles and muggle-born wizards who attack purebloods in much the same way Death Eaters attack muggles and muggle-born wizards. We learned about it briefly in History of Magic," she added, by way of explanation.

"I don't remember that!" Ron replied, scratching his head. Hermione smacked him on the arm with her rolled up copy of The Daily Prophet.

"That's because you never paid any attention in History of Magic!" she retorted.

"From fiery vengeance, we shed blood upon this land, for that which is taken from us, shall be repaid by our hand," Luna lilted, in a singsong voice.

"They sound like a bunch of nutters!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione looked at him darkly.

"'Nutters', as you so politely put it, are usually very dangerous- but Professor Binns made out that they were some kind of fairy tale told to young Witches and Wizards to scare them into tolerance towards each other during the First War," she mused aloud.

"A Fairy Tale, I think you'll find, that did little to allay anybody's opinions of your kind," a familiar voice snarled. It was Draco, and Luna seemed to find his arrival hysterically funny.

"You're a poet, and you didn't know it!" Luna giggled, pointing at him. Draco looked at her oddly, but said nothing. Harry and Ron looked glaringly at him. He was once again flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, but also joined by the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson.

Hermione paid little attention.

"Bored are we, Malfoy?" she asked nonchalantly, without bothering to look up. Draco snatched the newspaper out of her hand and prodded her in the area of her larynx with it.

"Oi, I'm talking to you, Granger!" he retorted, nastily, marking each new word with another sharp prod of the newspaper. Ron and Harry stood up simultaneously.

"Get your hands off her, Malfoy," Ron spat. Pansy giggled.

"Ooh, Weasley thinks he's hard!" she taunted. Draco pulled a face at Ron.

"Like I'd want to touch that," he hissed. Ron grabbed Draco by the front of his robes before Harry got the chance.

"Shut your mouth!" he forced through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, you're just jealous that Hermione got the highest O.W.L. grades of your year; despite her parents not being so friendly with the examiners as yours," Ginny said, breezily.

Draco scowled for a moment, then merely laughed, although only from the nose down; his eyes gave away his agitation.

"I'd start being appreciative of your muggle-loving bodyguards, Granger," he managed to hiss before a sudden hex hit him, and he was hiccupping uncontrollably, ejecting butterflies from his mouth every time his diaphragm convulsed. Harry glanced down, and saw Neville pointing his wand at Draco, a smirk on his face. Unfortunately, Draco noticed as well.

"Long- hic!- bottom!- hic!- I'll- hic!- do you- hic!..." He attempted to threaten Neville, but the effect was lost when Monarch butterflies and other Lepidoptera species came out instead of words.

"Oh, come on Draco," Pansy soothed, "They're really not worth wasting your time on. They're pathetic," she spat, glaring contemptuously at Hermione in particular.

He and Harry came face to face, and Draco did nothing more than glare at him, but the threat he couldn't actually say was evident. Harry glared back, but, as Draco and his gang stormed out of the carriage, Harry found he really couldn't get worked up over Draco anymore, as far as his threats went. Presumably Draco had found other buttons to press with alarming speed, he thought, looking across at Hermione, who appeared both a little shaken, and puzzled.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yeah, it's just he's really looking to cause trouble this time... well, more trouble than usual," she added. Luna looked up at them both.

"Well, we did help put his father in Azkaban- maybe he's a bit narked about that?" she offered. Harry nodded slowly, remembering Draco's laughable 'You're dead, Potter' threat last term. Targeting Hermione did more damage than targeting him, he had to admit, looking across at a fuming Ron.

"I'll do for him one of these days, Harry, I really will," he seethed, balling his hands up into fists and looking as though he was about to get up. Hermione put a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh Ron, they're really not worth getting yourself into trouble over," she sighed. Ron seemed to relax a little at this, and sat back down.

"You're right," he replied. Hermione looked shocked.

"Since when have you ever admitted I'm right?" she asked. Ron grabbed hold of a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and emptied some into his hand.

"Just don't expect me to make a habit of it," he retorted, before putting the sweets into his mouth.

The train shuddered to a stop, and the six school friends were thrust forward against each other as a result.

"Well," Hermione gasped as she quickly threw her school robes over her muggle clothing, "Here's to a new year, I suppose!"

Harry and the others followed suit, as far as putting their school robes on went, and they all started to drag their belongings off the train, and head towards the Hogwarts grounds, Harry with a strange sense of foreboding digging at the pit of his stomach.

Chapter Six: Swallowing Pride

The Fat Lady looked down at Harry with contempt in her stare.

"I know you've been here for five years now, Mr. Potter," she huffed, "however, I don't know if you are actually standing in front of me, do I? You could be any old nutter transfigured or polyjuiced into Harry Potter. That's the whole point of having a password system, boy!"

Harry sighed. He had been told by Hagrid to take his trunk up to the Gryffindor common room and get signed in before heading down to the feast in the Great Hall.

"Security measures, yeh can' be too careful these days," he had said, with a knowing nod of his head.

Harry was puzzled by this, until he found McGonagall with a huge flask of some brown-coloured potion and a huge piece of parchment which, as Harry saw when he leant over for a sneaky look at its contents, had a list of all the Gryffindor students who had entered the Hogwarts building. She gave him a small vial of the potion, and told him to drink it, which he did. He felt an odd tingling surge through his boy, but nothing else happened. McGonagall nodded, smiled, and put a tick next to his name on the parchment. Then, all of a sudden, she looked concerned, and placed a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was doing all right. Not wanting to get involved in yet another discussion as to his well being, he quickly made his excuses and ran up to the common room. Sadly, or rather, stupidly, he had forgotten to find out the password first, and the Fat Lady was doing an admirable job of protecting the entranceway.

Fortunately, his embarrassment was to be lessened by the sight of the two year-six prefects jostling their way up the stairs.

"Okay, prefects- what's the password then?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, after they had rushed back from their brief prefects' meeting, dragging their trunks alongside them.

"Alihotsy Leaves," Hermione panted, whilst trying not to trip over Crookshanks, who was busy winding himself around her legs in appreciation of being let out of the cat carrier. The portrait opened up and allowed the three into their common room. Ginny was already waiting there, talking to Dean Thomas, which judging from the look on Ron's face, he wasn't too impressed by.

"Hi, how were your hols?" Dean asked, cheerily. Harry shrugged, and continued to drag his trunk further into the room. Dean's smile faltered.

"That good, eh?" he asked, sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, what with Voldemort returning and all," Hermione replied. "It does put a bit of a damper on these things. It's one thing being ticked off on a register, but it's quite another to have the teachers check you haven't been using a potion or charm to disguise yourself!"

That at least explained to Harry why he had been told to drink that vial of potion before McGonagall ticked him off on that piece of parchment.

"S'pose," Dean replied, "What with Cedric... man, this is going to be bad. No wonder McGonagall was checking us all off..." He shook his head.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings," Harry commented, sarcastically. This caused Dean to laugh a little.

"Have you told your parents yet?" Hermione asked. Dean shook his head.

"Are you nuts! They'd pull me out of here for sure! What about you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing a little in curiosity. Hermione shrugged.

"Told them as little as possible, but I haven't been able to keep everything quiet; they're quite friendly with Ron's dad."

Ron had contributed little to the conversation, except to glare at Dean occasionally.

"Here, Dean," he finally offered. "Can we have a little chat?"

"Erm, sure," Dean replied, looking a little nervous as Ron put an arm around his shoulder and led him away from the others. Harry took an educated guess and assumed he was going to give him the 'don't hurt my sister' talk that big brothers seemed to feel obliged to do. Shrugging, he tugged his trunk up to the boys' dormitory, to find Neville quietly unpacking.

"Hi Harry," Neville offered, as he proudly placed his now rather large Mimbulus mimbletonia on his bedside table.

"Hey Neville," Harry returned, and quickly dumped his trunk next to his bed.

"Are you going down to the Feast already?" Neville asked. Harry shook his head.

"Later," he replied, "There's something I have to do first..."

Ascending the staircase to the second floor, Harry walked across until he reached the familiar gargoyle statue that indicated he was at the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Steeling himself up for what he was about to do, he stood up straight, walked towards the gargoyle and whispered 'Rainbow Drops'.

The gargoyle moved to one side, exposing the wooden, spiral staircase within an alcove. The fact that the password had worked was of no surprise to Harry; he had asked Hermione for it after they had got off the train, when he had heard her mention brightly that their level of responsibility must have increased from last year, if Dumbledore was offering his password to them. After much pleading and reasoning that what with everything that happened last school year, he really would need to be able to get in contact with Dumbledore quickly, she had eventually given in and, after a short lecture about not misusing it, told him the password.

He stepped onto the staircase, and it revolved slowly, taking him up to Dumbledore's circular office.

The headmaster in question met him at the door.

"Ah, young Harry," he acknowledged, his hand on the door-handle. "I was about to join the Feast- I hope you were planning to attend it as well, seeing as you missed our farewell one last year."

Harry rocked a little on his haunches.

"Before you do, can I speak to you first, sir?" he asked, nervously. Dumbledore nodded, and opened the door to his office, inviting Harry to enter before him.

Harry sat down in a chair opposite Dumbledore's desk, and saw Fawkes, his phoenix, look quizzically at him (well, as quizzically as a bird can). Harry noticed, with some relief, that all of Dumbledore's possessions were intact and working perfectly after Harry's tantrum. If he weren't feeling so nervous, he would probably have asked him how he managed to repair all the damage.

"Well, what would you like to speak about?" Dumbledore asked, sitting down in his chair, holding his hands in such a position under his chin that each of his long fingers on one hand touched the other. The impression he gave was serene and impartial. Harry wondered whether it would stay that way.

"Well, sir," he began, "About last term..."

He trailed off, but Dumbledore made no motion.

"Yes?" he prodded, gently. Harry got the distinct feeling he was making this purposefully difficult.

"I'm sorry about, well, losing my temper. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

There, he'd said it. He felt better for saying it, too.

Dumbledore still did not reply, he simply looked a little more melancholic. Harry decided to force him into acknowledging his words.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked, knowing the old headmaster would have to reply one way or the other. Dumbledore's face cracked into a small smile.

"On one condition," he replied.

"What?"

"That you forgive me my folly of last year too," he answered. Harry managed a brief smile.

"I forgive you," he replied, and found that those words made his heart lift more than the former ones had. He truly meant it.

Fawkes suddenly flew off his perch and sat on Harry's shoulder, pecking gently at his robes. Harry patted him on the head and found the motion somewhat therapeutic.

"I trust the reading went well for you?" Dumbledore asked, in reference to Sirius' last reading on Harry's birthday. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I mean, I think it did. I'd never been to one before," he replied.

"I rather hope it'll be a long time before you have to attend another," Dumbledore commented, kindly.

"Me too," Harry managed to reply. He was now inspecting the floor carefully, his shoelaces seeming endlessly fascinating. Better that that let out a tear, which he felt in terrible danger of doing. Dumbledore smiled kindly at him, though Harry didn't see.

"I'm glad you can see it in your heart to forgive me Harry," he said, serenely. "Perhaps, you should think of extending that sympathy to others..."

Harry bristled with anger. He knew where this was heading.

"If, sir, you're talking about Snape..."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

Harry shrugged in disinterest.

"No disrespect sir, but this very tower will crumble into nothing before I start Occlumency with him again. The only reason I'm taking Potions is because I want to become an Auror, and I'm fairly certain the only reason he's accepted me into the class is because he was forced to," he replied back, savagely. Dumbledore sat back in his chair.

"Well, young Harry, you're quite wrong on both counts. I don't wish for you to start Occlumency lessons again with Professor Snape, nor was he forced into taking you into his Potions class- though I must admit, he was rather grudging about the whole affair." He chuckled a little. Harry instantly felt wary about this new piece of information- why exactly had Snape not threatened to throw his toys out of the proverbial pram in order to get Harry ejected from his lessons? Whatever the reason, Harry didn't like it.

"Harry, Sirius left much to you in his legacy, I doubt very much he'd wish to leave you his grudges," Dumbledore added, in the same calm tone. Harry bit his tongue. He was about to retort that Dumbledore didn't know what Sirius wanted for him, until he remembered the reading, and realised he probably did.

This thought of the reading suddenly reminded him of a burning question he had.

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly. "Did you know of any woman Sirius was in contact with?" he asked. Dumbledore looked surprised.

"No Harry, I did not. Why do you ask?"

Harry briefly related the discussion he had overheard about the reading workers and the owl that had gone 'halfway around the world' to find the woman to whom the last scroll belonged to. Dumbledore scratched his head.

"I can't say I'm aware of this," he replied, "But sometimes, these readings can contact people the deceased haven't spoken to, or of, for decades. This woman may be someone he knew before he met you, or even before he met me."

"Oh," Harry replied, slightly crestfallen. He had hoped Dumbledore, of all people, would know. Maybe he should ask Lupin? He sighed heavily as he realised there had been ample opportunity to do just that over the holidays. Oh well, there was always Christmas.

Dumbledore stood up behind his desk.

"We should make our way to the feast, Harry," he announced. Harry looked up at him and smiled.

"Yeah, I said I'd meet Ron and Hermione down there," he replied. Dumbledore peered unobtrusively at him.

"Ah, yes, the two sixth year Gryffindor prefects. They have been good friends to you, haven't they?" he asked. Harry nodded truthfully. They really had, having put up with Malfoy's stupid taunts, faced an alleged mass murderer with him, stood up for him when the rest of the school thought he was a killer and a crackpot, respectively, not to mention nearly getting themselves killed in June helping him fight off those Death Eaters...

"Sometimes," Dumbledore continued, interrupting Harry's train of thought, "it is good to talk to such friends about things that may be of great concern to you, and them," he finished, before opening the door to his office, and letting Harry descend the wooden steps to the second corridor before him.

Harry had been at Hogwarts for five years now, this being the start of his sixth, and subsequently had known Dumbledore for just as long. Long enough, he thought, to understand the wise headmaster's use of subtext. Yes, he knew Ron and Hermione were good friends, yet somehow, he wasn't sure he wanted to share the news of his prophesy with them. It was nice to hang out with them, with Ron talk animatedly about Quidditch, Hermione chiding them over homework, the three of them just being happy being friends, being able to get angry or upset or sulky with each other and knowing, deep down, that they were still as good friends as they had been before. Harry felt reluctant to ruin all of this by letting this stupid prophesy hang over them like a comedy anvil.

He made his way briskly to the Great Hall, blocking all thoughts of Voldemort and prophesies out of his head. On his way, he bumped into Hagrid, who was wiping his brow with a large handkerchief.

"Alrigh' 'arry?" he asked, affectionately giving Harry a bear hug in the process, which left Harry feeling rather winded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, how are you?" he managed to gasp. Hagrid beamed.

"Grawp's doin' great! He's bin learnin' a few full sen'ences and doesn' hit quite so hard anymore. Well," he consented, "He does a bi', but he's only playin', he doesn' mean anythin' by it."

"That's... That's good!" Harry replied, a little uncertainly. At least Hagrid didn't have to pack frozen meat onto his bruises, which had to be a sign of improvement in his half-brother Grawp's behaviour.

"Well, yeh' best get goin' teh' t'feast- else yeh' goin' teh' miss the sortin'," Hagrid said, and with a cheery goodbye wave, he set off towards the outside entrance that led to the Great Hall. Harry looked at his watch and realised he was going to be severely late if he didn't pick his feet up.

The Great Hall, as was the custom, as familiar as ever with its enchanted ceiling and rows of children sat at the four house tables. A small line of children were walking nervously up to a three-legged stool, whilst Professor McGonagall placed the black Sorting Hat upon each of their heads. Upon seeing this, Harry realised he had just caught the end of the sorting. He tiptoed surreptitiously into the hall and looked furtively around for Ron and Hermione, who soon caught his glance and moved up the table, motioning for him to sit with them.

"Did I miss much?" he whispered as he sat down.

"Not really- bunch of kids, hat, house- you know the drill," Ron whispered back in reply. Hermione glared at them.

"Shush!" she hissed, "They're about to do the speech!"

Harry and Ron glanced at each other and rolled their eyes with a smile, then turned to face the High Table. All the usual staff were sat there- tiny Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall too, once she had resumed her place after the sorting. Professor Snape, Harry noticed, looked as sour and greasy as ever, and was conversing with a young-looking woman whom Harry did not recognise. He assumed she must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. She had a cynical, lop-sided smile on her face as she listened to whatever it was he was telling her, and occasionally raised her eyebrows at him before adding something to the discussion herself. He noticed Professor McGonagall nudge her gently; she turned to face her, smiled, then leant back into her chair, looking at Dumbledore, who stood up to address the school.

"Welcome! It's so nice to see all these new faces." He beamed down at the new intake of first years, who smiled timidly. "And, of course, all the old ones!" Harry felt sure he winked at him, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Ginny, who were sat together; but he couldn't say for certain.

"I have a few announcements before we begin our meal. First of all, I'd like to introduce a new member of staff. Since the departure of Professor Umbridge, whom I'm sure you will be deeply sorry to see gone-" The entire school, save the first years, burst out laughing at this. "We have employed a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Beauchamp."

There was polite, curious applause, with a general murmur of "Isn't she a bit young?" going round the tables. Professor Beauchamp, however, seemed to take this in her stride; she stood up languidly and gave a relaxed half-wave to the students before sitting back down. She looked across at Dumbledore, who smiled at her.

"I would also like to add," Dumbledore continued, "That this year, we will not be having a formal Quidditch House Cup tournament..."

The entire school groaned, but Dumbledore smiled.

"Instead, to promote house unity, we are intending to have a series of Quidditch trials in order to pick a team comprising all house members, to be pitched against a staff team sometime in March."

This caused a sudden Mexican Wave of whispering to occur, the event clearly being of interest.

"A staff team?" Ron whispered excitedly, "That's ace! We could foul them and all sorts, and not get into trouble!"

"But what if they give us detentions for fouling them?" Harry asked. Ron thought about this.

"It'd be worth it to get Snape," he replied, with an evil grin painted on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, have you not even considered why they might be doing this?" she asked. On receiving no reply from either of them, she continued.

"They're trying to minimise inter house competition; they don't want us to be rivals when the War draws on. Which means they must be really worried," she ended, with a nervous sigh.

"Nonsense!" Ron exclaimed in a stage whisper. "They've got the Ministry against You-Know-Who now, plus the Order," he added. Hermione frowned.

"I think the Ministry is too scared to do anything proper, if you read between the lines of the Daily Prophet."

"How about just reading the lines?" Harry suggested with a smile. But he knew she had a good point.

"And on that note." Dumbledore raised his voice, to which all the students responded by falling silent. "Tuck in!"

The levels of chatter suddenly increased as though someone had just turned a volume control on the Great Hall up a quarter of a revolution. The Gryffindor table of students were no exception.

"Here, Harry," Dean Thomas asked, through a mouthful of cottage pie, "are you going to try out for the student Quidditch team them?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah, I think so- what about you Ron?"

"S'pose," he grumbled, "but it's not like I've had that much experience compared to the other teams' Keepers."

"Still, you do get to play in the try-outs, whether you get on the main team or not- that may be all the experience you need," Hermione added. Ron brightened a little at this.

Neville was scrutinising the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Wow, we've never had a foreign professor teaching us before, have we?" he half-asked, half-stated. Ron shook his head.

"Nah mate, my twin brothers have met her. George says she's as English as, well, Bangers and Mash, I suppose," he replied, taking another mouthful of said meal. Harry glanced across at the table.

"She seems to be talking quite a bit to Snape," he commented, though at that point she switched her attention to Professor McGonagall and belied his original hypothesis. Hermione smiled darkly.

"You should have seen the look on his face when she walked in- I'm guessing he hadn't met her before, because Professor Flitwick appeared to be introducing them."

Harry laughed.

"Was he really angry?" he asked.

Hermione finished chewing on her carrot.

"No, he seemed a little incredulous that she'd got the job... Though I must admit, she does seem very young to be sufficiently skilled in Defence Against the Dark Arts," she added. Dean looked up at her.

"Hey, I'm not complaining about having a young female teacher," he commented, with a grin. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What about Tonks?" Ron offered. "She's pretty young, and she's a fully trained Auror..."

"Well, whoever ends up getting a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson first can let the rest of us know if she's a Lupin or an Umbridge," Ginny replied. The table of students laughed.

"She can't be that bad," Neville exclaimed, then his look of amusement snapped to one of terror. "What if she's a Snape?"

Ron laughed through a mouthful of food, and then subsequently began to cough.

"No way," he replied, once the coughing had subsided. "She can't be that bad, either!"

"She's odd, I can tell you that much," a familiar voice added. Judging from the cold feeling Harry had suddenly developed in his left hand side, he guessed correctly that 'Nearly Headless Nick', the Gryffindor ghost, had hovered beside him.

"How so, Sir Nicholas?" Hermione asked, whilst helping herself to an extra portion of mashed potato.

"Well, Miss Granger, I just so happened to bump into her in the corridor whilst on my way here," he replied. Ron looked puzzled.

"What happened?" he asked. "Did she say something?"

Sir Nicholas shook his head, and it wobbled precariously as he did so.

"Well, I bumped into her," he replied, in a tone that suggested the collective I.Q. of Gryffindor House had suddenly dropped by twenty points. To further demonstrate his point, he passed a transparent ghostly hand through Ron's face, which contorted in disgust.

"Oi, don't do that! It's cold!" he protested. Sir Nicholas smiled.

"You see, that's what ghosts do. We pass through living people like, well, ghosts, really. But I bumped right into Professor Beauchamp, made physical contact. On seeing my expression, which must have looked shocked to say the least, she simply smiled and said not to worry, it happened to all the ghosts she had met. Most perturbing," he finished, before wandering further up the table to frighten the first years by popping up through the soup tureen.

Hermione's eyes were on stalks.

"How fascinating!" she exclaimed.

"How creepy, more like," Ron retorted, "People don't just make physical contact with ghosts! It has never happened, ever!"

"How do you know?" Hermione asked.

"I just do! Mum or Dad have always said that people and ghosts can't touch, and so would any other witch or wizard you'd care to ask," he replied, folding his arms.

Harry continued to tuck into his food. Dumbledore was still headmaster, Snape was greasy and ill tempered, Hagrid was present and cheerful, and the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was odd. He felt almost everything was right with the world, and that he would consequently get a good night's sleep tonight. 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Seven: A Class of Their Own

Harry and Ron wandered down to breakfast in the Hall, where Hermione was already sitting, scrutinising a book whilst she ate her cornflakes. As Harry got closer, he could see it was one of the set texts for Transfiguration.

"Last minute swotting, eh?" Ron asked. Hermione stared at him with an ugly mixture of horror and disgust.

"No, I'm just looking at this one chapter again that I was reading over the holidays. It's really rather interesting!" she announced, haughtily. Ron laughed and raised his palms in mild rebuke.

"All right, all right, you needn't look at me as though I just asked you if you got off with Malfoy!" he retorted. Harry simply sat down and helped himself to some pumpkin juice.

"What's your timetable like for today, Hermione?" he asked, whilst buttering some toast. Hermione turned to face him.

"Well, I've got double Arithmancy next, then double Potions with you two, a break, then double Defence Against the Dark Arts," she replied. Ron groaned.

"What is it with all these doubles we've got?" he asked nobody in particular.

"That's what the N.E.W.T.s are all about," Hermione informed him. "All our lessons are doubles in order to give us enough time to have a proper lesson. I must say I'm rather looking forward to it!"

"I must say you're rather bonkers!" Ron remarked. Hermione gave him the infamous raised-eyebrow-glare, to which he shrugged apologetically and began messily eating his porridge.

Through a mouthful of toast, Harry chanced a look at Hermione's unopened copy of The Daily Prophet, which had an article on the recent 'breakouts' from Azkaban.

...Yet another break out from the infamous Azkaban prison has occurred, where two more Death Eaters have escaped. The ministry urges the wizarding public not to panic, but even with the Dementors guarding the place day and night, the ministry has had to deal with the escape of the infamous Sirius Black, who murdered thirteen muggles with a single curse back in 1981, and the later, more clandestine disappearance of Faith Hamilton, who was held for causing the death of Ryan Mitchell, then a member of the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures committee, just under two years ago. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic said in a statement yesterday, 'These escapes are all under heavy investigation- rest assured, our best Aurors are searching for these convicts and the public are in no immediate danger, although they ought to remain on their guard in such troubled times as these'...

Harry felt himself go hot with anger, and so stopped reading the paper. Hermione noticed his expression.

"What's the matter?" she asked. Harry pointed at the paper, which she immediately picked up to read, with Ron craning over her shoulder. She frowned as she read.

"Well, it's nice to know they're so confident! I'd imagine they know Sirius will pose no threat," she replied, bitterly. This show of aggression from Hermione served to comfort Harry in a bizarre way.

"I remember dad mentioning Ryan," Ron remarked. "Says he was a really nice chap, very tolerant towards people with dangerous pets- a bit fond of them himself, apparently. Much like Hagrid in that respect."

Harry nodded silently; wishing he hadn't seen that article, for it proved the Ministry would never pardon Sirius.

Ginny came rushing into the Great Hall, red hair flapping behind her and sat down next to them, happily helping herself to Ron's toast. Ron tried to protest, but he had yet to swallow his last mouthful of porridge, so the protestation that emerged was more muffled than he'd probably hoped.

"Hi, everyone!" she gasped, taking a bite of Ron's former toast. "What's up?"

Hermione relayed the story in the paper to Ginny, who screwed up her face in disgust.

"You'd think they'd say something!" she cried.

"They did," Harry remarked darkly, "They aren't going to pardon him..."

"Harry, don't say that!" Hermione soothed, "There's every possibility..."

"Yeah," Ron remarked, "Every opportunity if we get a new Minister of Magic, because Fudge is never going to admit he made a mistake. Like that's going to happen," he finished, gruffly. Ginny suddenly smiled.

"Here, I forgot to mention- I heard McGonagall and Snape bickering in the corridor on my way here. I hid behind a statue to catch what they were saying..."

Ron almost spat out his pumpkin juice in shock.

"Ginny! What were you thinking?" he asked, horrified.

"I was thinking I felt nosey," she laughed. "Like you wouldn't have done the same. Anyway, don't you want to hear it?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat up eagerly. Confident that she had an engrossed enough audience, Ginny continued.

"They were arguing over Professor Beauchamp. Apparently Snape couldn't find her this morning, or something, and McGonagall was saying she'd merely gone for a run, commented on her being an 'energetic young woman', I think was the phrase she used. Snape just huffed and said 'She'd just better be energetic enough to handle an O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. class today'. He sounded really disparaging of her."

"Yeah, but that's Snape for you," Ron replied though a mouthful of his remaining toast. "He's hated all the Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers!"

"But they've mostly been incompetent, frauds or Voldemort's underlings," Hermione added, absently.

"What about Lupin?" Ron retorted.

"Childhood vengeance," Harry added. Ron seemed to accept this, but Hermione shot him a look that suggested she hadn't forgotten his hastily brusque conversation concerning Snape in Diagon Alley the day before last. He thought it prudent to help her forget.

"I thought he'd only met her yesterday?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione began, "I'd rather think, seeing as he's been after the Defence Against the Dark Arts job since he started here, he might be a little ticked off that Dumbledore has hired a young, most likely inexperienced teacher to take the job over him."

Ginny looked at her watch and gave a sharp gasp.

"Well, I'll let you know how inexperienced she is in two hours, bye!" she said, whilst scraping her chair back and heading towards the first floor classroom.

Harry felt himself dragging his feet down the stairs to the dungeons- the last thing he wanted for a first lesson was Potions. One look at Ron's glum face confirmed he was not alone. Sadly, his feet-dragging days were looking to be numbered, as Hermione caught up with him, fresh from her Arithmancy class.

"Hello, Harry, Ron, all set?" she asked, breezily. Ron shot her a glance,

"Oh yeah, I can hardly wait," he replied, sarcastically. Hermione ignored him.

"Well, we'll have a much smaller class this year, I'd imagine," she explained, "Snape only takes on students who get Outstanding grades at O.W.L. level..."

"Oh, whoop de doo!" Ron exclaimed in mock delight, "so statistically we'll be more likely to have him breathing down our necks at every opportunity." He shook his head and sighed. "This just gets better and better!"

They shuffled into the classroom, and Harry was disappointed to find Draco and Pansy sitting next to each other at the front of the class.

"Great, that's all I need," Harry grumbled. Ron looked at him.

"Come on, you know how much Snape favours Malfoy- it's no surprise he'd take a class that he's teaching."

"True," Harry replied, as they sat down at a desk together. Hermione sat behind them with Terry Boot, who seemed quite happy to have her as a potions partner.

"Well, if you're as good at Potions as you are at Charms, we'll be laughing!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically.

"I don't think there's any class she isn't good at, Terry," Ron affirmed, as he looked over his shoulder at the two.

"Here," Terry whispered conspiratorially, "are we starting, you know, the DA again this year?"

Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged,

"I reckon we should see what this new teacher's like first. But there's no reason why we can't practise stuff anyway, I guess," he added. Terry seemed happy with this.

"We might need it- that woman's very young to be teaching something like Defence Against the Dark Arts," he confided. Hermione stared at him.

"Lets just wait until we have a lesson before we start judging her," she suggested. Harry couldn't help but smile as Terry took her at her word almost immediately, having evidently decided Hermione was the source of all wisdom after the N.E.W.T. level Protean charm she cast last year.

A quick glance to his right, and Harry saw Draco staring at them. He stared back, and eventually Draco gave up and turned his attention back to Pansy and their pestle and mortar. He was starting to find Draco's attempts at intimidation almost amusing, or rather, would if they weren't so annoying. Harry hoped he hadn't taken all the same classes as him, but something told him that every school child would have been forced to take Defence Against the Dark Arts this year, whether they chose to at N.E.W.T. level or not.

Snape slammed the door of the cold classroom and stalked the length of the room, before turning on his heel and facing the class.

"Well, the last five years will seem like cookery class compared to your next two studying potions. You have barely scratched the surface in both theory and practical application; this N.E.W.T. course will consolidate and deepen your existing knowledge... Which is variable within the class, to say the least." He gave Harry a brief, cold glance at this point, at which Harry felt himself begin to colour up in anger, though he fought to control it. He would not let Snape get the better of him.

"Of course," he continued, "this should not be below your capabilities, as all of you have achieved Os in your Potions O.W.L. Whether this was a fluke or not remains to be seen."

Harry simply stared ahead of him, refusing to even look at Snape at this point, so if he glanced at him at this conjecture too, he never did find out.

"This lesson," Snape continued in his cold smooth tones, "will be a chance for you to brew the Elemental Protection draught, one of the more technical potions. It requires a great deal of thought and accuracy, as it produces a characteristically... Mr. Weasley."

Ron jumped in his seat.

"Unless Miss Granger has somehow become the new Potions Master without my knowledge, I suggest you face the front of the class. Five points from Gryffindor for not paying attention," he remarked, in almost exactly the same tone, save for the last three words, which were said with an added emphasis that served to make the remonstration more threatening. Ron did as he was told, though not without an air of resentment.

"As I was saying, the Elemental Protection Draught has a characteristically pleiotrophic effect. Which would be...?"

He left the statement hanging, and it was evident he expected a reply. Harry glanced around and saw Hermione look nervously around the class, then upon seeing nobody else offer an answer, put her hand up. Harry hoped they, like him, were still trying to fathom what 'pleiotrophic' meant.

"Anyone other than Miss. Granger?" he asked, in a bored tone. Nobody offered, so Snape sighed and nodded towards Hermione.

"It causes the effects of skin thickening and dulling of pain receptors to occur simultaneously, leaving the user protected from being harmed by fire, liquid nitrogen and some burning potions," she replied.

Snape made no response, and merely carried on his description, which of course meant Hermione had got the answer spot on. He pointed his wand at the blackboard, which scribbled out a list of instructions and ingredients in white chalk.

"Right, now get on with it!" he barked, and the class jumped to attention.

Harry heard Terry say, "golly, he didn't even acknowledge you answered that question!" to Hermione, who replied, "well, he never does."

"Really? He's always said at least something to the Ravenclaws. Maybe he's just used to you knowing the answer," Terry laughed, quietly.

"Yeah, maybe," Harry heard Hermione reply, but her voice was oddly bitter.

Ron was busy dissecting their lacewing flies, but was able to multitask sufficiently to keep up a quiet conversation with Harry.

"He's a git, isn't he?" he said, vehemently. "No wonder Hermione's fed up- I mean, did you even know what 'pleiotrophic' meant?"

Harry shook his head in response. Ron breathed a sign of relief.

"Have you done those Poison Dart frog glands yet?" he asked, after a while. Harry handed over his neatly cut glands bored from the frog skin and Ron added them to the cauldron, followed by some ground crab shells. It hissed and bubbled while the two boys inspected it.

"Harry," Ron asked, "do you think it's supposed to turn purple?"

Harry looked up at the board, which specifically stated 'A deep blue colour is to be expected once the ground crab shells have been added'.

"No, but we're pretty close!" he replied, surprised at their efforts.

Snape was doing his usual tour of the classroom, scrutinising everyone's efforts.

"Define close, Potter?" he asked, darkly. "If by close you mean the difference between it protecting you from fire and it setting you on fire, then congratulations. Otherwise, I suggest you bother to look at the blackboard and try to remember when you added the lace-wings."

Harry glanced surreptitiously at the pile of dissected lacewing flies sitting on Ron's desk, and he was sure Snape must have noticed them.

"Yes sir," Ron mumbled as courteously as he could manage, which Harry knew from years of being friends with Ron, meant he was supremely irritated.

"I want a two foot essay from both of you describing the importance of following crucial instruction in regards to the potion on my desk by the next lesson," he drawled in a low voice, before walking towards Hermione and Terry, stopping a moment then continuing to walk on in silence. Harry heard Terry breathe an audible "Phew!".

Harry heard Snape remark, "Not bad, Draco. Now, tell me where you went wrong," in response to Draco's potion, which admittedly was sky-blue, though Harry doubted Hermione would have got off so lightly had hers turned out the same. Draco slapped his hand to his head and moaned something about the consistency of ground crab-shells, which seemed to satisfy Snape enough to ensure he didn't make him write an essay on the importance of following crucial instruction in regards to the Elemental Protection draught. Draco glanced across at Harry and Ron and smirked. Ron scowled back.

"He's such a brown-noser!" he fumed, which caused Harry to snigger. Unfortunately, it appeared Draco had heard Ron's outburst, for as soon as Snape's back was turned, he aimed a quiet 'effervo' spell at Harry and Ron's cauldron before they had chance to block it.

Their cauldron suddenly spewed out its entire contents over the dungeon floor, and most of their desk. However, they managed to avoid getting hit by it, save for Harry's left hand, which subsequently burst into flames. Harry deftly beat said flames out with his dragon-hide safety gloves before any real damage was done.

"What have you done now, Potter?" Snape bellowed. Harry looked straight at him.

"I didn't do anything, sir," he retorted, trying, and failing to keep the anger out of his voice. Snape glared at him.

"After five years of teaching you, I find that very difficult to believe," he snarled. "Class dismissed," he announced, and the class began to tidy up their equipment.

"Potter, stay behind to clear this mess up. You'll find some old cloths and a neutralising potion in the cupboard. Burn-healing paste is in the drawer below," he ordered, gesturing towards the student store cupboard. Harry did as he was told.

"Oh Harry," Hermione exclaimed, whilst dabbing some of the neutralising potion onto a cloth. "Do you need a hand?"

"Do such a thing, Miss. Granger and I'll take another five points from Gryffindor," Snape said coldly, without looking up from his desk. Ron looked at Hermione, who reluctantly placed the bottle of potion back on Harry's desk.

Whilst Harry was cleaning up the mess, with Ron and Hermione staunchly waiting for him, despite Snape's odious glares in their direction, he heard a small rap on the door. It was followed by the footsteps of a woman who appeared to be Professor Beauchamp. Her long French plait of black hair whipped against her back from the movement of her brisk walk into the classroom.

"Morning, Professor," she said, briskly but with a smile, one which Snape did not return.

"Well?" he asked. Somehow, she seemed able to interpret this monosyllabic response.

"It went well, actually. They're a funny class, the year five Gryffindors, very inquisitive," she replied, enthusiastically. Snape merely raised an eyebrow in response. Professor Beauchamp handed him a piece of paper in return. Snape stood up to receive it, and Harry was struck by Professor Beauchamp's apparent height. She stood almost as tall as Snape, which was tall for a man, let alone a woman.

"Here's my class list for this week; which one is most convenient for you to attend?" she asked.

"None really, but as Dumbledore insists I act as your mentor, I suppose tomorrow's year six class will suffice. You'll have had one lesson alone with them to get accustomed to their ways by then."

Harry inwardly groaned. His first week of term, and already he was going to be in the same room as Snape for two extra hours than he'd been expecting. He noticed Beauchamp return a sarcastic grin to Snape.

"I'll be sure to get you a box of chocolates in thanks, Severus," she replied as he ticked some boxes and signed a form. She looked around the dungeon room in interest, then her glance rested upon Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Oh dear, what have you three been exploding?" she asked, jokingly, as she saw a wand and cloth in Harry's hand.

"Ah yes, these are three of your year six students. Three of your most troublesome ones at that," Snape answered, maliciously. Beauchamp merely smiled.

"Oh, and they look so cute too!" she replied with a tone of irony. "What are your names? I'm Professor Beauchamp, by the way, in case you were asleep at that point of the feast," she added, offering her hand. Harry shook it.

"Harry Potter, ma'am," he replied, craning his neck a little to look at her. He became acutely aware of Beauchamp looking at the scar on his forehead, but she said nothing.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Ron and Hermione also introduced themselves.

"Ah, Weasley- are the twins that run that joke shop in Diagon Alley your brothers?"

Ron nodded in response.

"Yeah."

"Thought so, you do look similar... Hermione..." She rolled the name on her tongue as though it were a wine she was trying to identify. Then, suddenly, she smiled.

"This is going to sound odd, but you don't happen to know Victor Krum by any chance?" she asked. Hermione blushed. Beauchamp laughed richly.

"I'll take that as a yes, then. Your reputation precedes you, Miss. Granger," she finished, with a small wink.

"How do you know Krum?" Ron blurted out. Beauchamp smiled.

"We were at Durmstrang together, he was four years below me," she replied simply. "I take full credit for getting him on our house Quidditch team as a Seeker when he was in first year."

"Were you captain?" Harry found himself asking. Beauchamp laughed.

"No, but I was dating the captain at the time. I played Beater."

"Cool," Ron replied.

Snape glared across at them.

"If you don't mind, Professor, I would like my classroom back. I have my third years in here in five minutes," he snapped. If Professor Beauchamp was phased by his demeanour, she didn't show it.

"Oh, sorry, Severus, do excuse me," she replied, heading towards the door. She glanced across again at Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"See you in class this afternoon," she added, before leaving. Not wanting to incur Snape's wrath, they also made a hasty exit.

"Well, that was interesting," Ron remarked, "I wonder what Ginny made of her lesson?"

"She seemed nice enough," Hermione responded. Ron looked at her.

"Just because she knew Vicky..."

"Viktor."

Ron shrugged. Harry stifled a smile.

"I don't like the fact she was all friendly towards Snape," Ron continued. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well, he's a member of staff, she can't go around being rude about him, can she?"

"Snape does," Ron retorted.

"Yeah, but that's Snape for you," Harry replied.

"I wonder why she has a mentor?" Hermione mused. Ron shrugged.

"Beats me- because she's new?"

"None of the other new Defence teachers have had one."

"And look what happened to them!" Ron pointed out.

As they reached the Gryffindor common room, they spotted Ginny returning from her last lesson. Ron grabbed her with the force of one trying to wrestle a troll, and she squealed in surprise.

"Well, was she a freak? Was she evil?" he asked, urgently. Ginny laughed.

"Nah, she was pretty cool. Taught us about curses today; did a bit of theory at the beginning of the class, then just moved all the tables away and got us practicing counter curses and stuff! She shot a mild curse at us completely at random, and we had to use a counter curse to stop her. I thought I was in loads of trouble when I used that Bat Bogey hex, but she gave me five points for ingenuity!" she enthused. Then suddenly she began to giggle uncontrollably.

"But the weird part was, five minutes before the end of the lesson, she got us to sit in a circle, cross-legged with our hands resting on our knees and doing 'controlled breathing'. Honestly, me and Colin couldn't look at each other for laughing!"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"That sounds very..."

"Muggle-like," Hermione responded, "as though she's studied yoga or a martial art."

"What, you mean she's an artist?" Ron asked.

"No, Ron, martial art as in an oriental fighting style using fists and feet," she answered. Ron gave her a look as though this was a very strange thing to learn. Ginny merely smiled.

"Well, she did seem quite muggle-friendly. Perhaps that's why Dumbledore really hired her, to promote tolerance and stuff?" she offered.

Harry dropped his bag onto the floor and slumped into an armchair. Ginny perched herself on the edge of his chair.

"How was Potions?" she asked. Harry groaned.

"Malfoy made our cauldron explode. Snape gave us an essay on why our potion failed."

"Still, at least we managed to fill a flask with potion and forced him to mark it. Now we can get a legitimate P grade," Ron replied, sardonically, slumping into a chair next to Harry's. Hermione remained standing up, though she placed her bag on a nearby table, and began to flick through 'Advanced Guide to Dark Arts and Counter Attacks'.

"I swear, Malfoy was staring at us for most of that potions lesson- I bet he's trying to put us off, the prat," Ron hissed. "He needs to take up a hobby that doesn't involve you."

Harry smiled darkly.

"Yeah, somehow it seems like I'm the centre of everything..."

He trailed off, as the words he wanted to say got caught in his throat. Why couldn't he tell them?

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book. Harry shrugged.

"Nothing," he replied, affably. He stood up and grabbed his bag by the strap.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked him.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry replied, "coming?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and then grabbed their bags to follow.

"Good luck," Ginny called after them. Harry noticed she was still giggling at the memory of controlling her breathing. He had the feeling he was going to have to control more than his breathing if Malfoy kept his new act up.

Chapter Eight: Professor Beauchamp

Harry, Ron and Hermione found the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom wide open.

"Do you think we should just go in?" Hermione asked.

"Well, why else leave the door open?" Ron responded. Hermione seemed to see the logic in this, and followed him inside, along with Harry.

Most of the class were already there- Harry noticed to his chagrin that the Gryffindors and the Slytherins were sharing Defence Against the Dark Arts classes this year. He supposed it made sense- he couldn't imagine a single student being allowed to opt out of taking Defence at N.E.W.T. level, given Voldemort's uprising, so naturally the class sizes would be much larger than Potions had been. Sadly they hadn't been large enough to ensure they were all taught per house, as they had been in previous years, when the lesson time devoted to each subject was half the amount it was now.

"Cheer up, you might get to hex Malfoy without risking a detention!" Ron offered. Harry found that this thought did give him some savage pleasure. Ron glared across the classroom.

"Bloody Malfoy. Honestly, you'd think he's got nothing better to do than stare at us all day!"

Harry cast a surreptitious glance in Draco's direction; he was indeed looking their way yet again, though he noticed with amusement that Pansy slapped him across the arm and glared back at him, causing him to redirect his attention to her.

"First Defence lesson of the year, ooh, baby!" Dean grinned, rubbing his hands together. Neville, who was sat near him, rolled his eyes.

"Dean thinks the new professor's fit," he remarked to Harry, Ron and Hermione. Seamus, who was sat next to Dean, laughed.

"I don't get it meself, she's as skinny as a Banshee!"

As Professor Beauchamp strode into the classroom, Harry could see Seamus' point. She was only a few meals shy of gaunt, but her long black plait did add weight to the Banshee analogy, though her pale skin was not tinged green. Judging by her Oriental style black robes and matching trousers, she had indeed embraced some aspects of Eastern culture, if only sartorially. A bright red sash that tied across her waist merely enhanced her thinness, but it did match the trim on her robes, according to a snatched portion of Lavender and Pavarti's whispered conversation that Harry heard.

"Good afternoon class," she began, and the class quieted down in anticipation.

"My name is Professor Beauchamp, now, let me go through this register and start to learn your names... Brown, Lavender?"

Lavender raised her hand; Beauchamp smiled and ticked her off.

"Crabbe, Vincent?"

Crabbe put his large hand up in the air, and Beauchamp smiled, ticking him off her list as well. She went through the entire class this way, appearing to place a face to each name, as well as acknowledging having met Harry, Ron and Hermione earlier that day, asking if Neville was the one that had that 'cool Mimbulus mimbletonia' ('I saw you carrying it; they're really tricky to grow, I hear') and if Draco had found some book Snape had leant him useful ('It has pretty extensive coverage of most potion bases- I used a third edition of it for my N.E.W.T.s').

"Well, now that's out of the way, I'm supposed to give you the big 'O.W.L.s only scratched the surface; N.E.W.T.s teach you a deeper understanding' spiel, but having taken mine in the not too distant past, I'm well aware of how little attention you'll pay to it, so I won't bother," Beauchamp said. "Instead, I'm going to tell you I've been perusing your marks for the past five years. I'm glad to see everyone got at least an A in this class, though the grades on average aren't as high as I was expecting..." Harry saw her frown at some notes in her hand. "Oh dear, now I see why- who in Merlin's name did you have as a teacher last year? Dolores Umbridge... she didn't teach any practical!" Beauchamp seemed aghast that anyone would even dream of teaching an entirely theoretical Defence Against the Dark Arts class. She flicked through some other notes. "Lockhart... Oh, he was an utter prat, I don't care what he thought...Quirrel, Lupin and Moody seemed pretty fair though... right, so you've covered basic and intermediate Dark Creatures- I see Lupin got you tackling Boggarts, excellent-, basic curses and counter curses, is that correct?"

The class murmured their agreement. Beauchamp put down her notes.

"So, the general plan for this year is to build upon those areas, paying particular attention to curses, counter curses and other methods of defence, as well as their position in Ministry law. I'm also looking to cover some of the more advanced Dark Creatures, get you distinguishing some of the more inconspicuous ones and hopefully bring you into contact with some actual examples under controlled conditions, rather than just textbook pictures. Also, if any of you have any particular aspects of Defence you are interested in, let me know and I'll endeavour to cover those too, if I feel they may be beneficial to you all. Any questions?"

Draco's hand shot up.

"Professor, why is Professor Snape acting as your mentor? None of the other teachers have had a mentor," he asked, though Harry suspected he it was more because he wanted to undermine her, rather than out of personal interest. Beauchamp's expression did not change.

"Well Draco, usually I would not answer such irrelevant questions until after class, but this time I'll make an exception. I'm under the impression Professor Snape is mentoring me as he is the only other teacher here who started at the age I have, and thus has experience of particular... difficulties that I may face that older teachers are less likely to. Does that answer your question?" she asked. Draco nodded quietly, and Harry got the impression that, despite the ambiguousness of the response, it had indeed answered Draco's question, as it was the first and last time he tried to challenge her.

"Right, get your textbooks out, today we'll have a brief look at the theory behind incapacitating curses, before moving onto practicing casting and blocking some of the more basic ones," Beauchamp announced, walking along he aisles between the desks, ensuring that she was in close proximity to each student at least once in the lesson. She walked past Harry's desk, and he noticed for the first time that she had green eyes that seemed constantly alert, a little like Mad-Eye Moody's one remaining eye tended to.

"Now, can anyone tell me the Ministry's stance on the application of the malleable statue curse?" she asked. Hermione's hand predictably shot up. Beauchamp looked pleased.

"Hurrah! Somebody has looked at the recommended books!" she exclaimed. "Go on, Hermione."

"The Ministry categorise it as a class C spell- it doesn't generally carry any penalty, but if used in dangerous circumstances, the caster may get a fine of 1000 Galleons or in rare circumstances, a detention under the employment of specific Ministry departments," Hermione answered, confidently.

"Well done, five points to Gryffindor," Beauchamp replied, giving Hermione a wide smile, which caused her long nose to crinkle, accentuating the bump at the bridge. She continued to walk along the aisles.

"Now, can anyone tell me the most well-known example of malleable statue misuse?"

Hermione's hand shot up again, and Beauchamp smiled, but motioned downwards with her right hand.

"Put your hand down Hermione- make the others do some work," she replied. Hermione smiled, and did as she was told. It was a while before Neville slowly raised his hand.

"Yes Neville?"

"Erm... In Spain, a muggle was attacked with the spell during a dangerous ceremony..." He began, but clearly couldn't quite remember the details. Beauchamp seemed satisfied, however.

"Close, Neville, you got the place and the victim spot on. I'll give you two points for that. His name was Juan Arroyo Ram?rez and had apparently offended a wizard by the name of Paz Covas Garc?a, who placed the malleable statue curse on him during the Running of the Bulls ceremony in Pamplona and draped a red cloth over him. Fortunately, the authorities got him away from the run before it began. Covas Garc?a was sentenced to take the bulls back across the town to their original home without the aid of his wand. Now, I'm sure you can guess that trying to shift a dozen or so agitated bulls is no mean feat, magic or no."

The class sniggered a little. Beauchamp clapped her hands together.

"Right," she announced, "I would like a volunteer, please, to demonstrate the malleable statue curse to the class."

The class looked furtively at each other.

"I won't hurt you... much," she joked, "and I will start to pick on people if I don't get any volunteers..." she glanced around the classroom. Harry nearly doubled over in shock when he saw Draco raise his hand. Pansy glanced at him in horror.

"Ah, excellent, Draco, come over here," she instructed. Draco obeyed, and walked nervously to the front of the classroom. Beauchamp smiled at him, and he seemed to relax a little. Harry, however, noticed that Pansy was still chewing her lip nervously.

"Now," she drawled, "who is going to tell me the main effects of the malleable statue curse?" Hermione hesitated, and then raised her hand. Beauchamp grinned at her.

"Go on Miss Clever clogs," she laughed. "Honestly, you're really keen! It's great!"

Hermione's cheeks coloured a little.

"The curse causes the victim to be rendered unconscious and their entire body to become paralysed like a statue, although remain in a flexible state," she answered. Beauchamp clicked her fingers at her.

"Couldn't have put it better myself. Another five points, I feel. Indeed, as Hermione has said, the curse differs from the full body-bind in that it doesn't leave the victim stiffened... Oh, for Merlin's sake, how old are we, Ron?"

Ron did an admirable job of suppressing his sniggers, which seemed to be good enough for Beauchamp.

"As I was saying, the victim's body is left flexible, which means you can actually reposition the limbs and such like. This can lead to the victim easily being put in incriminating or perilous situations by the attacker. Now then Draco, I'm going to put the spell on you- don't worry, I won't be using it as an excuse to take amusing photographs of you," she joked. Draco visibly braced himself.

"Conglacio!" she boomed, pointing her wand. A jet of blue light shot out and hit Draco square in the chest. His expression stuck suddenly and his entire body remained still. Beauchamp prodded him in the arm to demonstrate his lack of movement further.

"See- as still as a statue. But, if I just do this..." Professor Beauchamp lifted up his arm and put it above his head in a salute. It stayed in place as though he were a pose-able doll. She moved his other arm so that his hand rested on his hips. The class giggled.

"Finite Incantatum!" she boomed, and Draco was returned to his original state, slightly stunned by his current positioning.

"How do you feel?" Beauchamp asked.

"Fine, Professor," he replied.

"Good, good. You can sit down now, and five points to Slytherin for braving the unknown," she replied. Harry heard Ron grumble in his ear about it not being that hard to stand still for a bit, which made him smile, though he had to admit, Beauchamp could hardly be accused of favouritism.

At that point in the lesson, Professor Beauchamp got the class to stand in a circle, cleared away the tables with a swift 'Dimoveo', and taught them about the most effective way to block a hit from such a spell using the 'regelo' incantation.

"This will neutralise the spell in mid-air, if used correctly. If it hits your opponent, it causes a sudden burst of movement for a few moments, generally in the form of running on the spot, or dancing, or very occasionally snogging- if I don't hear 'Finite Incantatum' within five seconds of that happening, I'll dock house points," she warned.

Harry and Ron partnered up, Hermione worked with Neville. Harry noticed that Draco and Pansy were working together too- they seemed to be quite the team in class.

"Here, it's nice to be doing something a little different from our other Defence classes," Ron remarked. Harry nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, this is pretty cool for a first lesson," he added, as they moved into position and began systematically hurling the curses at each other. Harry soon noticed that the malleable statue curse was an astonishingly quick spell, and he barely blocked it with its counter curse. Ron had a go and missed, getting hit by Harry's malleable statue, whilst Harry got hit by 'regelo' and found himself surging with pent up energy that he just had to get rid of, which resulted in him doing star jumps on the spot for a whole minute.

"Right, I'd like you to swap partners now," Professor Beauchamp announced. The class looked around at each other, clearly surprised.

"Swap?" Ron asked.

"That's right, Ron. No good practicing against the same person- since when are you ever going to be defending yourself against the same individual over and over?"

"When that person's Voldemort," Harry muttered under his breath, and he saw Ron fight the urge to flinch. He found himself partnered with Hermione, but by the time the lesson was almost over, he had worked with Parvati, Dean and Neville as well.

Professor Beauchamp motioned for them to gather in a circle, clearly perplexed by something.

"What is it with you lot? Are you afraid you'll catch diseases from other house members?" she shook her head. "I'll warn you now, I'll have you all working with each other, even if I have to split you all up myself."

Lavender Brown flicked her blonde ponytail behind her shoulder and raised her hand in one smooth movement.

"Yes, Lavender?"

"Professor, surely you weren't that friendly with every single house when you were at school?" she asked, frowning. Beauchamp looked at her.

"Well, I didn't study here, so I can't honestly answer that question. At Beauxbatons, we didn't really have a house system like this one."

Hermione looked perturbed, and raised her hand.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Didn't you say earlier in Professor Snape's class that you knew Viktor from Durmstrang?" she asked. Lavender and Parvati suddenly grouped together in quiet giggles. Professor Beauchamp's expression remained neutral.

"Yes, I did. I spent five years at Durmstrang Institute and took my O.W.L.s there, then was pulled out to study for my N.E.W.T.s at Beauxbatons."

Hermione nodded in understanding, but Ron suddenly seemed more interested than he had before.

"Why did you have to change schools? Hardly anyone changes schools!"

Beauchamp shrugged.

"I don't know really. I think Karkaroff disliked me, to be honest. Can't say I care that much. I'm still astonished a prat like him ever became a Professor, much less a Headmaster. Anyway," she changed the subject abruptly, "You're studying for a N.E.W.T. in Defence Against the Dark Arts, not in Professor Beauchamp. Everyone sit down where you are... spread out a bit... perfect. Now, if you'd like to cross your legs and rest your hands against your knees, palms facing the ceiling..."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. Ginny hadn't been pulling his leg, after all.

"Erm, Professor Beauchamp? Why are we doing this?" Harry heard Seamus ask.

"To get you relaxed and calm after the lesson, so you aren't liable to attack each other in the corridors," she replied with a tone of sarcasm. "Anyway, it's good for cooling down after exercise and it's also good for your disposition."

Harry and Ron exchanged glances; then did as they were told. Ron appeared to have difficulty bending his long legs into a cross-legged position, but eventually, they were all sat in a circle looking like mini-Buddhas in training.

"Right, now, concentrate on your breathing. Take in a deep breath- one... two... three, hold- one... two... three, and exhale- one... two... three. Clear your mind of the day and think about something happy and calm. Maybe a calm blue ocean, or a lit candle, or a sale at Honeydukes..."

There was a smattering of laughter at this. Beauchamp kept them at the rhythmic breathing for the next five minutes, before officially dismissing them at the sound of the bell.

"Wow, Ginny wasn't joking," Hermione said as they left the classroom, trying not to giggle. Ron didn't bother trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, that was bloody weird, but she was a pretty cool teacher, so I reckon I'll put up with looking a right prat five minutes a lesson," he replied. Harry remained silent- he didn't really want to admit to them that he had actually been left feeling pretty good after those five minutes of silliness.

"What did you think Harry?" Hermione asked. "About the lesson?"

"Yeah, she was alright," he replied, "not quite as good as Lupin, but I reckon given time, she may well equal him."

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"That whole changing schools thing was well weird, though," Ron commented, as they descended a staircase in their quest to get to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry was bemused by this.

"Really? I thought it was normal," he replied.

Hermione agreed.

"It happens lots in muggle schools, Ron, but then that's usually because you move house and end up too far away from your old school... Which isn't really a problem for wizards, I suppose," she said.

They took a turning and ended up in the hall. Hermione walked over to where Neville was sitting; Harry and Ron followed.

"Hi guys- have you seen the notice-board?" Neville asked. Harry shook his head.

"We came straight from Defence. Why?"

"The Quidditch try-out times have been put up... Aren't you the oldest person left on the Gryffindor team now?" he asked. Harry suddenly felt as though he'd been hit sideways with a pillow- did that mean he'd be captain? Then he suddenly remembered that he wasn't the oldest person on the team after all.

"No, I'm not," he replied, "Katie Bell is in the seventh year."

"Yeah, but she's so worried about her N.E.W.T.s, she's leaving the team," Ron replied. Harry was stunned.

"What?" he asked. Ron raised his eyebrows a little.

"Yeah- heard it today. So I reckon you're now the most experienced Gryffindor player. Cool, Harry!" Ron responded, as he realised what the news meant. Hermione didn't look as excited.

"But won't the captaincy be different this year, seeing as there's just going to be one team against the teachers? I'd imagine it will go to someone like Roger Davies- he's been captain of Ravenclaw for ages, so he'd have lots of experience."

Harry's face fell. He'd almost forgotten about that. Glancing across at the other house tables, he wondered who else he'd be up against. He was fairly confident he could beat the other Seekers, but he doubted very much that he could make captain.

"Don't be such a wet blanket, Hermione!" Ron chided, "there's still a good chance Harry might make captain. So what if Davies has been Ravenclaw captain for ages, have they ever won the cup?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't really want to think about it, in case it didn't happen.

"Here," Neville asked, "what did you think of Professor Beauchamp then?"

Harry, Ron and Hermione gave their comments of approval. Neville grinned.

"It was pretty good, wasn't it? That thing at the end was bloody weird, mind."

Dean entered the conversation.

"I thought Ginny was taking the mickey when she told me! Still think she's a cute teacher, though," he added.

Suddenly, Harry became aware of a highly false cough ringing in his ears.

"Oh, do you now?" Ginny remonstrated, with a slightly playful smile on her lips. Dean shrank a little in his seat.

"Not as cute as you, obviously," he replied. Ginny laughed.

"I should think so too!"

Ron started to jab at his sausages a little more violently.

"Are we going to see Hagrid this evening? I only saw him briefly on my way to the Prefects' office on our first evening back," Hermione asked, which distracted Ron from his vicious attacks on his food.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I just hope he's got Grawp under control," he answered, with a slightly pained look on his face.

"What about your homework, Hermione?" Harry asked. Hermione waved her hand.

"I can wait an hour or so before I start," she replied, "it's introductory week, after all. It's next week we need to get concerned about the workload."

"Yeah, that's alright for those of us who don't have extra essays from Snape," Ron grumbled. Hermione patted him on the shoulder.

"Never mind about that, you know where you went wrong, all you have to do is write it down," she soothed. Ron glared at her.

"But we don't know!" he retorted. Hermione's expression hardened.

"Yes you do. You didn't add the lacewings. That's why it went purple. And why you had a pile of lace-wings sitting on your desk," she added, with a smile. Ron exhaled deeply and moved on to bludgeoning his potatoes. Hermione huffed and turned to face her own food. Harry sighed and decided to concentrate on his fish pie, leaving them to sort it out themselves. 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Nine: Dark Arts and Gauntlets

It didn't take long for Ron and Hermione to start speaking again- it rarely did, Harry reminded himself, as the three of them traipsed up to Hagrid's hut across the large expanse of grass near the lake.

He noticed a small bubbling under the lake, which reminded him of the giant squid that resided there, as well as how much of the wizarding world he had begun to take for granted.

A familiar warm light shone from the window of Hagrid's wooden hut, which increased in intensity as he opened the door warily, holding a large club of some sort. He looked across at the three students, and smiled whilst lowering the weapon.

"Well, it's nice teh' see yeh three," he exclaimed, ushering them inside. They obeyed, and sat themselves down around Hagrid's kitchen table. He walked towards the stove and lit it.

"Cup o' tea?" he asked.

"Yes please," Hermione replied, whilst Harry and Ron nodded their replies in conjunction. Hagrid smiled.

"I haven' seen yeh at all today, what with yeh no longer takin' Care o' Magical Creatures," he said, conversationally. Harry suddenly felt very guilty.

"It isn't because..." he began, but Hagrid cut him off with a chuckle.

"Here, I know it ain't because o' me, I reckoned yeh fancied yerselves as Aurors," he replied.

"Yeah, why else would we willingly take Potions?" Ron asked, sarcastically. Hagrid chuckled.

"I know yeh've grown up five years since I firs' met yeh, but some things ne'er change," he laughed.

"How are you, Hagrid?" Hermione asked, swinging her legs on the great chair she was sitting upon as she stirred her tea.

"Pretty good, thanks. Grawp's doin' good too- I've been teachin' 'im some sen'ences and stuff. He recognises me though, so I reckon tha's as good a sign as anythin'. Anyway," he added conspiratorially, "he might be useful, yer know, in the War an' all."

Despite the fiercely glowing fire in front of him, Harry suddenly felt himself grow cold. He saw Hermione give him a furtive glance, but he purposely didn't look back.

"So, how's yer firs' day o' classes been?" Hagrid asked.

"Not bad," Harry replied, shaking himself out of his reverie.

"Arithmancy was so much more complex than last year! It was great...!"

"Potions is still a nightmare..."

"Defence was alright," Harry finished, after Hermione and Ron had given their opinions. Hagrid burst into warm laughter.

"So, yeh got on alrigh' with Persephone, then?" he asked. Harry nodded, after registering Hagrid was referring to Professor Beauchamp.

"Yeah, she seemed nice. In a caustic way," he added.

"The breathing thing was weird, though," Ron reminded them, before looking at Hagrid. "She got us sitting with our legs crossed, chanting like lunatics!"

Hagrid chuckled again.

"Yeah, she seemed a bi' urbane, if you get my drift," he replied. Ron looked non-plussed.

"She's very up on Muggle culture," Hermione quietly reminded them. Hagrid nodded.

"Very much so, which is odd for a witch that wasn' raised a Muggle," he replied. Hermione looked stunned.

"Really?" she asked. Hagrid nodded.

"Yeah. Got chattin' teh' 'er in the Three Broomsticks the other nigh'. I tell yeh," he continued, "She knows 'er ales. Introduced me teh' a new drink an' all- called it a 'Basilisk Bite'. Apparen'ly, it's illegal in five countries. 'Alf mead, 'alf cider, shot o' firewhiskey and redcurrant to taste. Good stuff."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hagrid, who merely shrugged.

"Whose family does she belong to, Hagrid?" Ron asked. "She could be related to me for all I know!"

Hagrid shrugged again.

"Dunno, Ron. She didn' like teh' talk about it, so I didn't press her. Not the kind o' woman you want teh' press wi'out good reason, I feel."

Hermione suddenly frowned in thought.

"Hagrid," she asked, "Sir Nicholas was talking about having someone bump into him, a human. Is that possible? I tried to read up on it, but couldn't find much, except references to the undead..."

"Well, it's been said that vampires can't walk through ghosts, I know tha' much," Hagrid answered. "Somethin' teh' do with havin' no soul. Means they walk with the livin', but reside with the dead."

Harry glanced across at Hermione and saw her get that familiar glint in her eye that suggested she was about to spend three weeks of her spare time in the library.

"She's off already?" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password."

"'Alihotsy Leaves'. You know Hermione." Harry replied, as the portrait swung back and they stepped into the Gryffindor common room. "She's found something to interest her."

"Yeah. Pity she never tells us. I mean, is it really that top secret that she can't tell us?" Ron grumbled. Harry shrugged, and went over to the notice board to sign up for the up and coming Quidditch trials. He picked up the quill levitated next to the pinned up parchment and signed his name, then handed the quill to Ron.

"Are you going to try?"

Ron hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the quill.

"Why not- if I end up looking like a tit, at least I can say I tried," he remarked, though Harry felt it was mostly to talk himself into putting quill to parchment over the whole decision.

They looked about for a spare seat, and found some next to the fire. Neville was playing a game of Exploding Snap with Seamus and judging by the different size piles of sweets next to them, they were playing for stakes, and Neville was winning. Dean was sitting with Ginny, though Harry noticed Ron's jaw click with tension before he noticed the actual couple.

"I suppose we ought to get on with this essay from Snape," Harry said. Ron glowered, and referred to Snape by some choice phrases that Harry made a mental note to squirrel away for future use, though they sat down and began working on the assigned essay none the less.

At that point, Professor McGonagall entered the common room, and everyone stopped what they were doing instantly and stared worriedly at her.

"It's alright, I'm not here to tell you off for anything, carry on," she announced briskly, and everyone obeyed, except for Ginny and Dean. Harry noticed a tall, dark haired figure standing behind McGonagall, and in a brief moment of panic thought it was Snape. He was relieved to find Professor Beauchamp looking around the room with mild interest.

"...And this is the Gryffindor common room. Is there anywhere else you haven't seen yet?" McGonagall asked the tall woman.

"Probably, but I'm sure with time I'll find them," Beauchamp replied with a smile. "I've been round the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw house areas, Severus showed me the Slytherin quarters. I know how to get to my classroom, the Great Hall, Albus' office, the library, Severus' classroom and office, and I know my way around the grounds."

"Already?" McGonagall looked incredulous. Beauchamp merely shrugged.

"I studied at two unplottable schools- you learn to find your way around quickly."

McGonagall gave a small laugh.

Harry felt something sharp jab in his left arm. It was Ron's elbow.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, and then fell silent as Professor Beauchamp leant over to peer at their notice board.

"Student Quidditch team? Minerva, when are we getting a staff list up?" she asked.

"I suppose Rolanda will sort one out very soon. Why, are you interested in playing?" McGonagall asked. Beauchamp nodded.

"I played Beater on the Durmstrang and Beaubaxton teams for seven years. I was the one that persuaded our captain at Durmstang to give Viktor Krum a shot at the position of seeker- he was a natural even then..."

"I know," McGonagall replied, dryly, "you've told me twice today."

Beauchamp returned a mischievous grin.

"You'll be amazed at how many conversations I can get that story into, Minerva."

The two professors turned to leave, Beauchamp offering a 'Bye!' to the congregated students. Harry heard snatches of their conversation as they exited the common room.

"I trust Severus isn't treating you too harshly. He didn't exactly relish the idea of being your mentor; I'll admit to you in confidence that he's been after your job for years."

"Well, that explains the derogatory comments about my teaching skills. Nah, he's a funny old sod, but he isn't as intimidating as he likes to think he is. There are even moments that he offers useful advice."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah- the comment about 'the students are animals, they sense fear, and you must nurture their own fear at every opportunity' I'll admit I've taken with a pinch of salt, but by and large, he's been very helpful indeed."

Harry was distracted from McGonagall and Beauchamp's conversation to his essay by Ron asking him whether the active component of lace-wing fly wings were their veins or their cells. Harry honestly didn't care, and from the look on Ron's face, it was clear he didn't either.

Yet, despite their disinterest in the subject matter, or possibly because of it, the clock had struck eleven before they had finished. Hermione entered the common room a few moments later.

"Hi, how did your essay go?" she asked, flopping herself into a spare armchair near the fire.

"Alright. Did you enjoy the library?" Ron asked in return. Hermione smiled.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I've found out some stuff I wanted to, plus I've got some more information for continuing S.P.E.W..."

Ron groaned.

"Hermione! I thought you were going to give that a rest!" he protested. Her cheeks coloured up in indignation.

"Not while there are house-elves that have yet to hear of freedom!" she replied.

"So, you're going to be spending a lot of time knitting again?" Harry asked, his tongue firmly embedded in his cheek. Ron sniggered. Hermione glared at them.

"As a matter of fact, no, despite its success. I'm trying out a new tactic."

"Which would be?"

Hermione pulled out a wad of printed parchments from her bag,

"Leaflets, Ron. If the house-elves have to clean up here, they might be persuaded to read these," she announced. Harry and Ron shared another glance. Neither of them had the heart to tell Hermione that the house-elves had refused to clean Gryffindor Tower out of indignation. Maybe they should, Harry thought, as he reckoned it had certainly proven they exercised some of the rights she wished they did.

"Whatever makes you happy," Ron replied, vaguely, rolling up his now completed essay and slipping it into his bag.

Harry was slightly more concerned about the books Hermione had checked out of the library. Not the number, for Hermione was a voracious reader, but the subject matter. He mentally counted at least six tomes on vampire legislation, history and mythology.

"Oh no," Ron whispered to Harry, having noticed the same books. "You don't think she's got a bee in her bonnet about vampire rights now, do you?"

"Anyway!" Hermione slammed a heavy book down on the table, which made them both jump. "Anything interesting happen here?"

They quickly filled her in about McGonagall and Beauchamp's excursion to their common room, which seemed to intrigue her.

"Hmm, so Snape has been openly hostile towards her teaching? Interesting..." She trailed off.

"Yeah, and she didn't seem to care," Ron added.

"That's odd- you'd think she's be a bit hurt by such comments on her first day," Hermione replied. Harry smiled.

"You're forgetting she appears to be as thick skinned as a dragon. Remember how she dealt with Malfoy?"

"True... anyway." Hermione grabbed her bag. "I'm off to bed. Don't stay up too late- we've got early classes tomorrow," she chided, neatly displaying some of her leaflets around the common room before walking off to the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory.

Ron yawned.

"You know, sometimes Hermione has some good ideas," he said, clearly referring to the idea of sleeping. Harry had to agree; though his mind was buzzing, his body couldn't keep up. He followed Ron up to their dormitory, dragging his feet in weariness.

He fell asleep, and had a very odd dream of Hermione marching to the Ministry of Magic, banner in the air, trying to secure house-elf and vampire rights, only to have the two groups try to wipe each other out during the demonstration.

Their next Defence Against the Dark Arts class found them face to face with a surly Professor Snape, merely fifteen minutes after they he had been teaching them potions. This was to be expected, as Harry had heard him say he would be observing Beauchamp's next lesson with them.

"I wonder where Professor Beauchamp is?" Hermione asked Harry, who shrugged.

"Apparently, Professor Beauchamp seems to think she can leave her N.E.W.T. classes to other members of staff while she gallivants off around the country," Snape replied nastily. Hermione almost shrank from his voice, and Harry thought it wise to find a seat before Snape took his frustration out on them more than he would anyway. The rest of the class were sat in utter silence; the Gryffindors looking furious, the Slytherins looking untroubled, save one or two of them who fought to hide their glee; including Draco, who shot a malicious smirk at Harry.

"What did we do in a past life that was so bad it was determined we should be punished by four consecutive lessons with Snape?" Ron grumbled as they took their seats. Snape stood behind Professor Beauchamp's great oak desk and began to speak.

"Seeing as Professor Beauchamp cannot be here for personal reasons," he drawled contemptuously, "it has been left to me to take your Defence Against the Dark Arts class for this morning. We'll be looking at vampires today..."

Seamus raised his hand, but Snape ignored him.

"Sir," he continued, unabated. "We're meant to be studying deflection curses today..."

Snape silenced him with a disdainful glare.

"Thank you, Finnigan, but I rather think I know what I'm doing..."

"But, sir," Hermione piped up, her eyes wide, "Professor Beauchamp has given us a day-by-day lesson plan, so that we can do relevant reading for the..."

"Then she's hardly using the lesson time productively! Now for Merlin's sake be quiet, girl!"

The tone and volume of Snape's retort caused every member of the class to sit up a little straighter. Harry was reminded a little of the time he snuck a look into Snape's Pensieve during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons.

"The vampire is a dark creature," Snape continued in his usual cool voice, "one of the only ones of which numerous references can be found within Muggle literature. However, they have many erroneous myths and legends attached to the creatures- which of you can tell me any of these?"

Hermione raised her hand, and Snape pointedly ignored her. To her credit though, Harry thought, she didn't stop trying. Ron raised his hand soon after.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked, in a voice that suggested he was surprised Ron may have the answer to any question.

"Oh, I don't have the answer," Ron replied.

"Then why are you wasting my..."

"But Hermione's had her hand up for ages!"

"I can hardly recall an occasion where Miss Granger has not had anything to say in class... Draco?"

"Sir, many Muggles seem to believe that vampires cannot cross running water," he smirked, as though it was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. Snape nodded.

"That is correct. Any others?"

The Slytherins in the class answered, whilst the Gryffindors remained silent, half in support of Hermione, half in amusement of watching her resolutely keep her hand up to answer questions Snape was not going to ask her to. Harry watched her, feeling increasing hatred towards Snape for putting her through this, and let his savage thoughts of revenge run riot. He had got halfway through an elaborate scheme of slitting the skin between Snape's fingers with paper cuts and immersing his hands in a sink full of lemon juice whilst forcing him to listen to a looped tape of 'Bryan Adams' Greatest Hits' when he heard Snape change the subject.

"Despite these misconceptions, what are the actual known methods of repelling a vampire?" Snape asked, whilst still ignoring Hermione's outstretched right arm, which she was now propping up with her left hand. Draco was halfway in the action of raising his own hand when the classroom door suddenly flung open, revealing a pink-cheeked Professor Beauchamp, still wearing a heavy woollen cloak and leather gloves.

"Hi, guys!" she said cheerily to the class. "Sorry I'm a bit late, had to check in on a sick friend of mine." She turned to face Snape, and smiled courteously.

"Sorry to have taken up your free time, Severus, I'm really very grateful you could..." Her expression changed to one of vexation as she glanced at Dean Thomas' textbook, whom she was stood closest to.

"Did you not look at my lesson plan, Severus? I left quite a comprehensive guide to covering deflection curses for this slot... so I am at a loss as to why the students have textbooks open on pages about vampires," she continued, with sarcasm in her voice. The class sat up rigid in their seats; a new teacher openly challenging Professor Snape had to be a first.

"I merely felt that the students ought to be moving on through the syllabus a little quicker than they are at the moment- were you planning to teach them about Vampires at all this year?" he asked, standing up as he did so. The imposing movement didn't have exactly the desired effect, for he only stood an inch or so taller than Beauchamp.

"In November, actually," she snapped back, breezily. "However, I hardly think that is your decision to make..."

"I do have fourteen years more experience than you, Professor," Snape replied simply, making the epithet sound like an insult. Beauchamp's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Were this a Potions class," she replied, with a twisted smile, "I'd agree whole-heartedly with you. But it isn't. In fact, as this is a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, you'll find I have rather more experience than you do."

The class collectively gasped, though quietly enough for a now seething Snape not to notice.

"Wow, she really hit below the belt with that one!" Ron whispered, in admiration, as Beauchamp and Snape continued to snipe at each other in increasingly quiet and polite tones, which Harry instantly recognised as covering up their intense fury. After a few minutes of this, Professor Beauchamp stepped back and began to remove one of her gloves.

"Right, I've had enough of your constant insinuations that I'm not up to this job," she said with rancour, "we'll settle this the hard way."

With that, she dropped a single black glove on the floor, then folded her arms, a curious lop sided grin on her face. Snape looked at her with incredulity.

"You're challenging me to a duel?"

"Damn right I am," she replied. "Maybe then you'll finally understand that although I may be a little young, I'm most certainly not na?ve to this subject. That is, she added, "if you're wizard enough."

Snape bent over and picked up the glove, all the while maintaining eye contact with the other professor.

"I accept, just name your time and place," he almost snarled.

"This time next week in the Great Hall," she replied, then turned to the class. "Which means you lot can get to see how a real duel is done. I doubt Gilderoy Lockhart offered much in the way of competition, Severus," she added. Snape smiled coldly.

"How very perceptive of you. Now, if you'll excuse me," he snarled, stalking out of the room and slamming the classroom door shut, leaving Professor Beauchamp suppressing a grin and trying to teach a class of students whom were all sitting with their eyes appearing agog and their mouths hanging open in shock.

Chapter Ten: Are You, Or Have You Ever Been, A Death Eater?

"And Snape accepted, just like that?" Ginny asked at dinner, her expression similar to the one worn by the year six Gryffindor and Slytherin Defence Against the Dark Arts class that same afternoon. Harry nodded, then shot a quick glance at Ron, who was animated in discussion of the event.

"Yeah! It was well wicked!"

Hermione looked perturbed.

"Snape looked really angry..."

"That just made the moment even more enjoyable, I can't wait to see it!" Ron replied, an expression of anticipation on his face. Ginny helped herself to another portion of Shepard's pie.

"I'm gutted we aren't going to get to see it- I've got Charms when you have Defence," she grumbled.

"Maybe Professor Flitwick will let you see it," Harry suggested, "he was supposed to be a Duelling champion in his time..."

"When we have O.W.L.s this year? I'm surprised we're allowed to eat and sleep!" she replied. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Ah, yes," Ron said, sitting back in his chair and adjusting an imaginary monocle. "I remember back in the day of our O.W.L.s- they used to flog us in the classrooms if we wrote less than three feet for our homework in each subject. You don't know you're born, young Ginny. Kids today have it so much easier than we did."

"Than you did a whole year ago," Ginny snorted, not finding her brother's sarcasm all that amusing. She spotted Luna Lovegood wandering towards the Ravenclaw dinner table, and suddenly jumped up.

"I have to tell Luna," she said, by way of explanation, then ran off to collar said girl before she managed to sit down.

Ron went to help himself to another portion of potatoes, but had his wrist slapped by Hermione.

"Haven't you two got Quidditch trials this evening? You don't want to be too full for that!" she remonstrated. Ron sighed, and put the tongs he had picked up down.

"There, happy?" he asked. Hermione smiled.

"Yes," she replied, simply. Harry felt his stomach tie itself in knots. Truth be told, he was very nervous about these trials. He was pretty sure that he was the only person in the school who had been playing seeker for five years- even Cho hadn't played for as long as him... His stomach began to do more knots than a speedboat. Tonight, he'd have to face Cho again, after their rather disastrous non-relationship of last year. She was seeing Roger Davies though- no, she'd turned him down... wasn't Roger Davies the Ravenclaw captain? The one Hermione reckoned would be the student captain? Oh dear, oh dear... maybe he should just give Quidditch a rest this year?

Hermione got up out of her seat, and took her bag.

"Well, I'm off to the library- good luck this evening! I'll try and watch if I can," she said to Harry and Ron before striding off out of the hall. Ron shook his head.

"That girl spends too much time with books- she'll turn into one at this rate!"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed towards his nose for a moment.

"I've often wondered if that'll ever end up happening to Hermione," he mused. Ron snorted, but he didn't hide his smile.

"I suppose there are some curses that can turn you into a book, or maybe trap you into a book... Hey, perhaps we could try that on Draco and his cronies. Mind you, I reckon if we turned Crabbe or Goyle into a book, they'd resemble those 'See Tom Fly, Fly Tom Fly' books," he laughed. Harry returned the laugh, then looked at his watch.

"We should get down to the pitch," he commented. Ron sat his fork down, which implied to Harry that he agreed.

The sun was setting in the distance, but was low enough not to cause the players to squint too much in the air. Having marched out onto the pitch, Harry noticed players in many different robe colours appearing for the tryouts, as well as Roger Davies wearing a white band across his left arm, signifying he was to be captain. Harry's heart sank into his boots, partly because he wouldn't get a chance to be captain this year, and partly because he had been worried about having to meet Roger since dinner. Roger gave him a cheery wave, but Harry got the feeling it wasn't sincere. Ron nudged him.

"What's the matter?" he asked. Harry sighed, and told him about Cho and Roger Davies.

"You're worrying too much. Do you care that Cho's dating that Michael Corner bloke?" Ron asked, to which Harry shook his head in response. Ron tutted.

"That no good idiot boy..."

"Ron," Harry asked, "Are you ever going to like any of Ginny's boyfriends?"

Ron thought about this for a moment.

"Nope," he replied, simply, "because it's sick. She's just a kid!"

Harry was about to remind Ron that Ginny was only a year younger than him, then wisely decided against it.

The sharp hiss of a whistle took Harry's attention from Ron's protectiveness and to the task in hand. Roger Davies was waving his hand, commanding attention.

"Right-ho," he announced. "Welcome to the first Quidditch Student-Team tryouts. Wow- this is kind of making history isn't it?"

"Get on with it, Davies!" a laughing voice shouted. Roger grinned.

"Alright, keep your hair on, Boyce!" he bellowed back. "Well, to cut a long story short, we need a team- two Beaters, one Seeker, one Keeper, and two Chasers, as I'm a Chaser and Captain..."

Harry heard somebody shout out "Self-Nepotism!" in jest. He also noticed Ron stood next to him muttering 'I must be bloody mad, I'm going to look a prat!' as though it were his mantra.

"Right, well I've got a list here of all the positions people wanted to fill. Let me make this clear- everyone who makes it through to the next tryouts today will automatically be made a reserve if they don't make the final team. Today we will whittle down the numbers to two players per position, and the final tryout date will be later this term. Once we return from the Christmas holidays, we'll really start training. I warn you, I'm a harsh taskmaster and I don't take kindly to tardiness and laziness in practices, so you'll really have to pull your finger out if you make this team..."

"Honestly," Ron groaned, "you'd think he was organizing an Auror campaign!"

After at least fifteen more minutes of rousing speech making from Roger Davies that almost put Ron to sleep, he blew on his whistle again, asking for all the players trying for position of Beater to come to the centre of the pitch. The others, Harry and Ron included, sat on the grass next to the stands. It was here that they bumped into Zacharias Smith, who was scratching his left shoulder as though his yellow robes were irritating him.

"Harry, Ron," he acknowledged. They smiled back.

"Zack," they replied, in unison.

"I must say," Zacharias continued, "That DA club did wonders for our O.W.L. results- didn't you notice how everyone in the group got much higher marks?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, darkly, "because that was the most important thing we learned."

Ron nudged him.

"Harry!" he hissed. Harry shrugged, and Zacharias looked at him, his eyebrows raised slightly.

"Well, I only wanted to thank you. If you're going to be like that," he got up and began to walk off, now scratching his left shoulder blade. Harry jumped up and put a hand on his arm.

"Zack, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude," he lied, "it's just..."

"I heard," Zacharias replied harshly, though he looked at Harry with warmth in his eyes. "My parents do get the Daily Prophet." He paused. "It must be hard, him being back and all, after..."

"Yeah," Harry replied, his voice having softened. "It is a bit."

The three said nothing for a while, except Zacharias kept scratching at random areas of his body.

"What's up with you?" Ron asked, pointing to where Zacharias kept itching. He laughed.

"My mother insisted on washing my robes in Dazzle and Sniff's 'Grime-go', and I think I'm allergic to the damn salamander extract," he answered, pushing his hand down his back to reach a particularly awkward itch. Ron patted him on the back.

"Must be fun in your world," he grinned. Zacharias smiled back, and the three began to watch the trials. Harry was stunned at how good Crabbe and Goyle had suddenly got. As much as he disliked them, he had to admit, what they lacked in technical skill they more than made up for in power, which made them appear quite effective. Then a whistle blew, followed by the sound of Roger shouting, "All chasers come to the centre of the pitch!"

Zacharias blanched a little.

"Well, wish me luck," he sighed, and made his way down to the pitch. Harry started to feel quite nauseous with worry. He had never had to formally try out for a team position before, and had quite underestimated how nerve-wracking it was. He glanced around the pitch, and saw to his horror that Draco was standing next to Crabbe and Goyle, clearly congratulating them for making the second stage of the team tryouts. He turned round, and caught Harry's eye. He glared at him, then returned to Crabbe and Goyle, which shocked Harry. Hadn't he been irritating him, Ron and Hermione at every given opportunity? Ron appeared to read his mind.

"Maybe he just wants to do it when Hermione's around. I've seen how angry you get, so it's not a surprise he'd use her to rile you."

Harry nodded, though he was stunned at how Ron had chosen to forget that almost every single incident that Draco had insulted Hermione had ended in Ron trying to exact some sort of physical punishment on him.

Suddenly, a beaming Zacharias appeared before them.

"Wow- made the next tryouts!" He grinned. "They're after Keepers next- that's you isn't it Ron?"

Ron nodded, and gulped. Zacharias slapped him on the back.

"Good luck," he offered, and Ron managed a weak smile before making his way down.

To be honest, for all Ron's nervousness, Harry though he flew very well indeed. Even Roger looked impressed when he ducked down and managed to save a Quaffle using the tip of his broomstick to bounce it up in the air a little, then ricocheted it off the end with a vertical half-spin. When Ron ran up to where Harry was sitting, he was grinning like someone who knew they had got through to the next set of tryouts.

"Well done, mate," Harry said, clapping him on the back. Ron beamed.

"Cheers! I didn't think I would make it... but I did..." he gasped between breaths.

Harry spotted Hermione standing at the other end of the pitch, with her hand to her forehead, clearly looking for them. Harry waved and she started to run over, having spotted him.

"Wow, well done, Ron! I saw you do that amazing save from over there!" she exclaimed, hugging him.

"Thanks, Hermione," Ron breathed, standing with his hands on his knees in an attempt to get more oxygen into his system, and reduce his red puffy cheeks.

"Have you gone yet, Harry?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"Not yet- I'm up next," he replied.

"Looking forward to being humiliated, Potter?" a voice drawled. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Malfoy, I am," he replied without turning round. Draco was silent for a moment, clearly trying to think of something to say. On failing to do so, he simply pushed past them, yanking Hermione's tied-up hair so hard, she yelped in pain.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath as she undid her hair tie and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Ron glared after him.

"He is such a moron," he huffed. Harry sighed, and began to make his way to the centre of the pitch.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione called after him, and he turned round to show his appreciation with a smile, before taking his position on the pitch next to Draco, Cho Chang (whom he did his utmost not to look at) and Summerby, the Hufflepuff seeker whom Harry did not know. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Cedric.

"Right!" Roger announced, "After I've finished speaking, I'll release two Golden Snitches. Ten seconds later, you follow. The ones to catch them make the next try-outs; it's that simple. Right," he announced, raising his voice. "Release the Snitches!"

Harry heard the familiar buzzing of the Golden Snitches as they whizzed past his head and shot off into the distance, occasionally zipping back and forth around the staff spectator stand before going further than Harry could see.

"On my marks, go!" Roger shouted, and the four seekers kicked down on their broomsticks and sped off into the air in different directions.

Cho had seemingly pulled herself together, Harry noticed, as the small dark-haired seeker appeared to be keeping a sharp eye out for signs of the Snitch.

"Good for her," he thought, and was taken aback by how much he meant it. Draco was flying around, looking for the Snitch, but his movement was impeding his chance of ever finding it, Harry noted with savage pleasure.

Suddenly, as he was about to check the Hufflepuff seeker out, Harry heard a whizzing sound next to his right ear. A quick glance confirmed it was the Snitch; a second glance confirmed Draco had seen it too. It shot off towards the sun before Harry got a chance to catch it, so he sped off after it at such a speed, he felt the gravitational force pull slightly at his face. A sudden thud courtesy of Draco forced him off course, and he wavered, but managed to hold his trusty Firebolt steady and kept following the Snitch. Squinting from the glare of the sun, Harry advanced upon it, until he felt the fluttering wings tickle his fingertips.

A huge thwack sent him reeling. Harry felt himself start to slide off his broom, and heard the assembled crowd gasp in horror as he managed to cling on desperately with one hand. He looked down, and immediately wished he hadn't- he had to be over fifty feet up in the air. With a strength he felt sure he gained from pure adrenaline, he pulled himself up onto a sitting position upon his broom again, and saw with a mixture of horror and anger that Draco had the Snitch gripped between his fingers. He had clearly knocked him off his broom to get it.

"Better luck next time, Potter," he smirked, before flying down to the pitch. Fighting the urge that the savage part of his brain had to knock the little git off his broom and thus complete the circle of Karma, Harry tried to focus on finding that final Snitch.

Harry felt he must have stared at an increasingly dim sky for ten minutes before he saw signs of movement in the form of a twitching Summerby. Harry quickly dived towards him, as did Cho. Summerby soon noticed the two seekers speeding towards him, then the Snitch, and putting two and two together, dived after it himself. The Snitch flew towards the ground at full pelt, and Harry watched for it to change course. It didn't.

"There's no way that thing is going to fly into the ground," Harry thought to himself, though he honestly was beginning to doubt his original hypothesis as the Snitch continued to whiz towards the grass.

A tiny shudder of movement emanated from the Snitch as it changed direction almost imperceptibly. Without thinking, Harry pulled a Wrongski Feint as Summerby and Cho headed towards the ground. The sudden burst of speed towards the ground encouraged the other two seekers, and by the time Harry pulled up into the air, they were going too fast to stop themselves colliding. He reached out, and felt himself grab the wings of the Snitch, which struggled to get free. Precariously, he took his other hand off his broomstick and grabbed the ball of the Snitch with it, quickly grabbing the Firebolt handle with his other hand before he could fall off.

"Well, there we have it, our two seekers for the next tryout," Roger announced, happily. Draco looked far from pleased when he saw Harry land his Firebolt, Snitch in hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron and Hermione running towards him.

"Oh, well done, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, almost crushing his ribs in a hug. Ron merely patted him awkwardly on the back.

"Yeah, good one, mate," he added. Harry smiled at them both.

Summerby shook his hand firmly.

"That was a smart move you pulled there, well done," he offered, magnanimously. Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied. He noticed Cho, and was about to pluck up the courage to say something, anything, to her, but she turned on her heel and walked away, making it very clear to Harry that his commiserations were not welcome.

"Don't worry about her, mate," Ron said. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"These things happen," she added.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco talking to Crabbe and Goyle, occasionally shooting a nasty look in his direction. Once they actually made eye contact, only for a moment, and Draco mouthed, "Just you wait, Potter."

Harry sighed. It was getting embarrassing, if anything. Draco was clearly obsessed with trying to make his life miserable, but it just wasn't bothering him. Maybe it was because he had more important things to worry about now, or maybe he had just grown up.

Then Ron hit Draco with a spell that caused him to make flatulent noises every time he bent his knees, and Harry found himself collapsing on the pitch in fits of hysterical laughter. Clearly, he thought once he had calmed down, it wasn't the latter option.

Next week came all too quickly and it was on the day of their fifth Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson that Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves gathered with the rest of their Defence Against the Dark Arts class around a huge raised piste in the Great Hall, with Professor Beauchamp and Professor Snape stood at opposite ends. Snape, Harry noticed, had a savage look on his face, as though he was going to enjoy showing Beauchamp up. Hermione looked concerned.

"Oh, you don't think he's going to hurt her too much, do you?" she whispered. Seamus laughed.

"She wouldn't have challenged him if she thought she would get a pasting!" he replied. Hermione shot a nervous look at Harry and Ron, who understood the implications. Harry very much doubted Professor Beauchamp knew she had picked a duel with an ex-Death Eater.

"Right, if I could have your attention please. You're in year six now, so I imagine you know the rules of a Wizards' Duel. Would anyone care to tell them me?"

Hermione's hand predictably shot up.

"Ah- I can always rely on you, hey, Hermione? Go on," she instructed.

"Two wizards against each other on a twenty by ten foot piste, any curse is allowed save for the Unforgivables, and the last one to remain conscious wins. Except pre-twentieth century, where it was last one to die wins," she finished. Professor Beauchamp laughed richly.

"Correct Hermione, five points to Gryffindor... Oh, and an extra one for reciting the historical changes to the rules in such a humorous manner," she replied. "And would someone like to remind me of the etiquette? I must admit I've a tendency to be frightfully rude in these situations..."

Neville raised his hand.

"You have to face your opponent, raise your wand, swish it diagonally to your left, bow, then walk towards your end of the piste, and only begin once the adjudicator says go," he replied, confidently.

"Well done Neville, another five points to Gryffindor, and you get to be our adjudicator" she replied, smiling.

Neville gulped.

"It's okay, you only have to shout 'go'," Beauchamp said, by way of explanation. She then turned her attention to the Slytherin section of the class.

"Come on guys, are you going to let them beat you? I'll have some questions at the end, but for now, Professor Snape and myself are going to show you how it's really done." She nodded to Snape, who smiled coldly. "Ready?"

"Oh yes," he replied, nastily. Harry felt fingers digging painfully into his right arm. A quick look told him it was Hermione, who looked as though she could barely watch. Ron, on the other hand, was rubbing his hands together in glee.

Professor Beauchamp and Professor Snape stalked the length of the piste to face each other. Almost instantaneously, they both held their wands to their face and swished them diagonally in synchronicity, each with a look of menace in their narrowed eyes. They both turned on their heel and stalked back to the end of the piste, facing each other once more with what could only be described as grim determination.

"Erm- go?" Neville shouted, with a slight air of uncertainty.

For a second, neither of them moved, and the class collectively held their breath. Then, suddenly, Snape stepped forward, pointed his wand and shouted.

"Stupefy!"

A jet of yellow light sped towards Beauchamp.

"Declino," she retorted, shooting a red flame towards him. The two met mid-air and cancelled each other out with a loud bang. The students nearest the front jumped at the noise.

Snape quickly shouted, "Propulso," and fired a blue jet square at Beauchamp's chest. She dropped her shoulder and ducked, whilst taking aim and shouting, "Intemperies Hirsutus!" The blue jet crashed into the wall behind her and caused the member of the portrait behind to take shelter with that of a horse in a landscape painting nearer the window. The twisting purple coil from Beauchamp's own wand, however, hit Snape square on the jaw, and he began sprouting thick black fur all over his face. The Gryffindors in the class began to snigger, but the Slytherins looked a little annoyed. Snape quickly recovered, and shot 'Rictusempra' at Beauchamp, who didn't block in time and ended up squealing with laughter on the piste floor. In her mirth, she managed to shoot two broad jets of gold light at Snape, of which the first one missed, but the second made contact with his left knee, and he was levitated off the floor. A quick flick of her wand wrist, and he jerked upside down, until she lifted the spell and dropped him messily onto the floor. He sprang to his feet fairly quickly, and Harry noticed he looked beyond angry.

It seemed Hermione had noticed too.

"Gosh," she whispered, "He looks really mad."

Ron shrugged.

"Maybe he's travel-sick? I wouldn't like to be thrown upside-down, I'd most likely throw up everywhere!"

Harry suddenly realised he'd been reminded a little of that scene he saw in Snape's Pensieve last year, and thought perhaps Professor Beauchamp had inadvertently reminded Snape of the incident as well.

His fears were confirmed when he heard what sounded like, "Abscindo Venas!" said with more venom than he could have imagined two such words to contain, followed by an angry scream, and a wince from the slightly horrified crowd. Beauchamp was clutching her left shoulder, blood pouring through her fingers. Her expression however, had hardened to a murderous glare.

"Bastard!" she seethed, which was soon followed by a yell of 'Fragosum', which hit Snape square in the chest and he smashed against the wall behind him. Another portrait yelped and hid in the top left-hand corner of its huge gold frame as Snape slid down and fell to the floor. He pulled himself up and roared, "Cremoare!" at the top of his voice. A green wave of light sped out of his wand, which multiplied until it appeared as though a huge tidal wave was heading towards Beauchamp. The woman stared hard at the oncoming surge of light, her eyes widened a little, and she suddenly back-flipped away from the wave, eventually jumping up and grabbing hold of a chandelier above her head, pulling herself up as the wave crashed past her and burned a hole through the wall of the Great Hall. The gathered students 'ooh-ed' and 'aah-ed' in appreciation, though whether this was at Snape's admittedly impressive curse, or Beauchamp's acrobatic escape, Harry couldn't tell.

Ron looked gobsmacked.

"Wow- did you just see what Beauchamp did? That was bloody amazing!"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's not that impressive..."

"Well, you do it then!" Ron retorted. Hermione sighed.

"I can't, but there are many Muggles who can," she snapped back. Harry heard Dean snigger a little behind him.

"Anyone else get the suspicion that there's some Dark magic going on here?" Neville asked, quietly. Harry didn't reply; he had been having the same thoughts himself. A savage part of Harry's brain fired up into life again- Harry decided that perhaps he should name the savage part of his brain Steve, as the little chap was becoming an increasing fixture in his waking thoughts nowadays. At that moment, Steve truly wanted to see Snape suffer at the hands of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher- not death, but maybe a loss of a limb, or permanent disfigurement. By the time Steve reminded him that he wouldn't be adverse to a painful death, Beauchamp had fired a green bolt of light at Snape from her position up on the chandelier, which arced through the air, forming the shape of an arrow, which pierced Snape in the stomach. He staggered to his knees, and Harry heard Hermione whisper, "That's a 'Reverse flow' curse. It reverses the direction of lymphatic drainage. It's temporary, but pretty painful, I'd imagine," to a horror-struck Lavender. After a minute or so, Snape pulled himself to his feet and the two opponents faced each other, looking ready to pounce, and staring each other out as two animals fighting over a prized carcass might, poised for the attack.

Suddenly, Snape yelled, "Expelliarmus!" and Beauchamp's wand flew out of her hand into his own. She looked stunned for a moment, and Snape looked triumphant. He pointed his wand at her, and began to utter another curse, only for Beauchamp to offer a humourless smile.

"Disarming curse. Cute," she chided, before raising her hands.

"Sinistra; Vinculum, Dextera; Lanio viscera," she boomed, and to Harry's utter shock, a blue bolt coiled from her left hand, encircling Snape and pinning him to the spot, whilst a yellow bolt shot from her right hand penetrated his chest, and he began to foam at the mouth, amid squeals from both Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Snape broke free from the curse and muffled something, causing the wand in his hand to glow and shoot multiple crimson flames at Beauchamp. The curse she was trying to use failed as a result and appeared as though it would set fire to her hands. Harry shuddered when he realised why he recognised the curse. It was the same one Dolohov had used to try and kill Hermione at the Department of Mysteries. If she hadn't silenced him, he would have succeeded too. Beauchamp coolly responded with a spell that Harry didn't hear her say, as she muttered it too quietly. All of a sudden, the flames disappeared and Snape was on his knees, clutching his arm in agony. Beauchamp's eyes had widened in surprise, so much so that she appeared to have forgotten to take off whatever spell she had used on Snape. Harry heard Hermione gasp, and was about to tell her not to worry, when he heard a door slam.

"What in Merlin's name is the meaning of this!" screeched Professor McGonagall, looking aghast at the scene in front of her. To be fair, Harry thought she had a point; if he was a teacher and had walked in on the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor with a huge bleeding gash on her shoulder, looking dishevelled and pointing a blue watery spell from her hands at the Potions Professor, who was writhing in agony on the floor surrounded by portraits either hiding or peering indignantly in their frames at the scene, he'd probably have had a similar reaction.

Professor Beauchamp shook herself out of her reverie and released Snape from the spell, helping him to his feet; though he suddenly looked a little wary.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall, Severus and I were just showing the students why you should never underestimate your opponents," Beauchamp replied, blithely. McGonagall did not appear comforted by this.

"And you thought a good way of showing them this would be to damn near kill each other?" she hissed. Snape and Beauchamp exchanged a guilty glance; Harry was reminded of the time he and Ron were caught by McGonagall flying Ron's dad's car to Hogwarts in their second year, and imagined they had appeared to McGonagall rather like the two Professors did now.

"We're sorry, Minerva, we won't let it happen again..."

"I admit it got a bit out of hand, but nobody was hurt..."

"What about her arm, Severus?"

"What about my lymphatic system? She only went and pulled a 'Reverse Flow' curse on me!"

McGonagall turned to Beauchamp, who glared childishly at Snape for a second, before meeting McGonagall's stare with dignity.

"It was in self-defence. Your Potions Master is feisty," she replied, apologetically. McGonagall's fierce demeanour softened a little in amusement at her words.

"That doesn't make it right, Persephone- what must these children be thinking?"

"Why don't we ask them?" she replied, breezily, before turning to the class. "Right, class, I said there would be more questions. What should you do if you encounter a spell which you do not recognise and feel unable to counter-block?"

Draco raised his hand.

"Run away in the opposite direction?" he offered, with a smirk. Beauchamp smiled.

"Very good- five points to Slytherin."

Draco's smirk was wiped almost instantly off his face and replaced with a look of astonishment.

"If in doubt," Beauchamp continued, "you're much better off trying to get out of the way of unfriendly fire than waltzing into it unprepared. Okay, next question- when should you rely on defensive spells such as 'Expelliarmus'?"

Pansy Parkinson raised her hand.

"Never. Especially if you can't tell if your opponent can do wandless magic and counteract such an attack," she replied, smiling at her head of house, whom Harry though he imagined almost smiling back. Beauchamp grinned.

"Excellent- five points to Slytherin again. If there is one take-home message I implore all of you to remember from these lessons, is that you can never rely on anything!" She accompanied the last four words by karate-chopping the palm of her left hand with the edge of her right hand. "Expect the unexpected and always be on your guard. Life surprises you many times, death only surprises you once. Mostly," she added, under her breath. Harry saw Hermione's eyes narrow a little at this remark.

"And finally, which two Professors in this school should you always endeavour to hand your homework in on time to?" Beauchamp asked, jokingly. The class laughed. Beauchamp clapped her hands together.

"Class dismissed- and do I even need to tell you that if I catch any one of you using those spells on each other, you'll have me to answer to!"

The class murmured their concord, then filed out of the Hall, talking animatedly about the demonstration lesson. Harry deliberately dawdled out, and heard Professor McGonagall concede to Beauchamp concerning the usefulness of the lesson, but warned her and Snape, "Never to pull a stunt like that again!" to which Beauchamp and Snape solemnly agreed. Once McGonagall had left the Hall, they turned and sniggered at each other.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked quietly, her and Ron having purposely taken just as long as Harry had to leave the Hall.

"I think we just witnessed something monumentous- Snape smiling," Ron replied. They managed to catch the rest of their conversation.

"I must admit, Persephone, I'm impressed."

"I told you I was more skilled at Defence than you gave my callow youth credit for."

"I was thinking more about how you managed to wriggle your way out of that potentially damaging confrontation with Minerva, but I'll accept you're an adequate Professor," he replied, grudgingly. Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Careful, Severus, you're coming dangerously close to flattering me."

She turned to Snape and stepped too closely to him, her mouth inches from his ear.

"The kids weren't the only ones who learnt something today. That 'Purple flame of Death', or whatever it's called, spell was quite unique. In fact, I can only think of one famous Wizard who has taught his followers such a thing," she squeezed his left forearm with her hand and he jumped. She laughed quietly, and Harry saw Snape turn even paler than usual.

"And to think Minerva was concerned about my influence on the students?" she finished, before turning away from him and walking away.

Harry, Ron and Hermione decided it would be in their best interests to ensure Snape didn't know they had heard that part of the conversation, and snuck out of the Hall unnoticed.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed. "She's worked out he was a, you know..."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "that's pretty odd."

"No," Hermione countered, "what was odd is how she worked it out."

"Huh?" Harry and Ron managed to say in tandem.

"Well, she worked it out from a curse he used? Whom can you think of who could spot a Death Eater from his fighting technique?" she asked, rhetorically. "Plus there's that spell."

"Which spell?" Ron asked.

"The one that resulted in Snape groaning in pain, clutching his arm. I couldn't catch it all but it definitely involved the phrase 'Fateor macula'. I'm guessing she did something to his mark," she explained.

"What does that mean?" Ron asked. Hermione smiled grimly.

"It means, like all those before her, there is something not quite right with our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Eleven: Eternal Mystery

Harry sat down to breakfast like he did every morning, and couldn't help but look across at the High Table. It had become almost a daily ritual, ever since he had overheard that conversation between Beauchamp and Snape. Hermione also had a ritual of her own, but rather than eating and staring conspicuously for signs of arguments, threats or general discomfort between teachers, her ritual involved spending hours at the library looking up information on vampires, instead of attending breakfast. Harry knew this was what she was doing, owing to the sheer number of books on the creatures she had acquired, her conspicuous absence from the Great Hall of a morning, and from gentle teasing out of information from Ginny. What he couldn't figure out, though, was why. She spent enough time in the library already, why on earth did she feel the need to give up breakfast in the pursuit of knowledge as well?

"Maybe we'd understand if she bothered to tell us what she was thinking!" Ron sighed petulantly, as he got up to reach for a piece of bacon. Harry couldn't help but smile at Ron's irritation. If there was one thing his redheaded friend couldn't stand, it was not knowing something that Hermione didn't wish to tell him.

A seat scraped the floor next to Ron and a figure sat down. Harry saw Ron turn sharply to face it.

"Oh, so you've finally decided... Oh, hi, Neville. Sorry," he said, in a less brusque tone, "I thought you were Hermione- don't tell her I said that," he added, nervously. Neville laughed.

"Your secret's safe with me. Here," he asked, "have we got Transfiguration today?"

"Nah mate," Ron replied, "it's Charms."

Neville wiped his brow with the back of his hand and exhaled audibly.

"Phew! I forgot to complete my Transfiguration homework- hopefully I can finish it off during lunch," he explained.

Ron leant forward in frustration, and caught his sleeve in a dollop of tomato ketchup on his plate.

"I'm getting fed up with all this homework- I thought O.W.L.s were bad enough, but this is ridiculous! We have to read in preparation for the lessons? What's the point of having the bloody lessons then, if they aren't going to teach us it?" he ranted. Harry shrugged.

"It's the Halloween feast tonight, isn't it?" Harry asked, changing the subject. Ron looked at him oddly.

"Well, yes, being as it is Halloween," he replied. "Honestly, Harry, you really are becoming like Hermione, forgetting what day it is because you're distracted by a mountain of work. You'll start spending all your free time in the library next... where is she?"

Harry sighed quietly. He saw Ron's point in a way, if you replaced the phrase 'a mountain of work' with 'being a key to unfulfilled prophecy that will change wizarding history'.

Oddly, the news of his role against Voldemort didn't penetrate his every single waking thought, nor that many of his sleeping ones. He was both comforted and concerned by Hagrid's words from last year: "As long as Dumbledore's here, I'm not too worried." Dumbledore was supposed to be the greatest wizard of all time, and he won't be able to defeat Voldemort. Neither would any of the Order- Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt. The former was pretty expert at defence and was a werewolf to boot, the latter two were Aurors; they wouldn't be able to defeat Voldemort. Even Beauchamp, who Harry had been taught Defence Against the Dark Arts by for the past month or so and had seen plenty to convince him that she was a pretty amazing witch, wouldn't stand a chance either. What about Snape, who Harry had seen put up an impressive fight against Beauchamp in the duel that McGonagall still developed a nervous twitch over if anyone mentioned it in her presence? He wouldn't do it either, though Harry still wasn't entirely convinced that this was because of the prophecy. Despite Dumbledore's convictions, Harry still harboured an inkling that his ex-Death Eater Potions teacher wasn't in fact an ex-anything, except an ex- decent human being, presuming he had ever acted like one in his life. When push comes to shove, Harry thought pensively, it all comes down to him- a scrawny sixteen year old who couldn't even make his hair surrender to his command, much less the darkest wizard of the past thirty years.

"Oi, Harry! Get a move on, we've got Charms in ten minutes!" Ron shouted in his ear, which caused Harry to jump and nearly spill his half-empty glass of pumpkin juice over their table. He slung his bag over his shoulder.

"Has Hermione come down for breakfast yet?" he asked, despite knowing the answer. Ron shook his head.

"Nope- she's still up in the library, I guess, forgetting that she's going to be starving by mid-morning. You know, for such a smart witch, she can be a bit thick at times," he grumbled, tucking some leftover bacon and egg into a bread roll and stuffing it into his bag. Harry thought it wise to let the gesture go unmentioned.

They got to Charms before Hermione did and managed to secure three seats at that perfect place in class- not too far away from the front so that they couldn't see what was going on, yet not too close that they couldn't carry on a whispered conversation without courting Professor Flitwick's attention.

Ron breathed deeply.

"Ahh, perfect!" he sighed in reference to their seating, which caused a passing Hannah Abbot to laugh at him.

"You enjoy Charms that much?" she asked him with a grin. Ron smiled back,

"Yes, it's the perfect way to start the day," he joked. Hannah looked conspiratorially at Harry and Ron, and lowered her voice.

"I say," she whispered, "we should have a reunion. You know- a DA get-together where we can reminisce and gloat about getting one over that Umbridge woman?"

Harry smiled.

"Yeah, that'd be a good idea actually. Shall we try to sort one for the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Alright, I'll let Ernie and Susan know, and I've got Defence classes with the Ravenclaws, so I can speak to Terry as well. Word of mouth will do the rest, I'd imagine," Hannah replied.

At that point, Hermione entered the classroom in a bit of a rush; clearly thinking she was late. Draco, who was also entering the room at the same time, took the opportunity to trip her up and she nearly went flying into Mandy Brocklehurst. Hermione turned around and glared at Draco.

"Are you not supposed to be growing up, Malfoy, instead of regressing?"

Draco merely laughed.

"Ooh, big words for a little Mudblood," he sneered. Ron stood up at hearing this.

"You just wait, Malfoy, I'll do you for that!"

"I'd like to see you try, Weasel!" he spat back.

"How about we don't see either of you try, and then I don't have to give either of you detention or deduct house points, hmm?" Professor Flitwick offered, as he entered the class. Ron and Draco muttered their apologies to Flitwick and sat down in their respective seats.

They were studying Conjuring Charms that day, which made it easy for Harry, Ron, and Hermione to talk whilst practising conjuring up flowers in the corner of the classroom, and for Hermione to gratefully eat the squashed bacon and egg sandwich Ron surreptitiously slipped her.

"Well, I think I may have an idea about our new Defence teacher," Hermione announced quietly once she had swallowed the last bite of her sandwich. Harry and Ron leaned in closer, with Ron pretending to reach for a book and Harry checking to make sure Professor Flitwick was still at the other end of the classroom.

"She may be a vampire," she said. Harry and Ron looked at each other with incredulity.

"A vampire?" Harry asked.

"Don't be daft!" Ron exclaimed. Hermione blushed a little.

"Just hear me out first. I know she sits at the High Table all the time, but have you ever seen her physically eat anything there?"

"Well, no, but to be honest, I've never really paid that much attention," Ron replied. Harry looked at him.

"She seems to like to cook her own food. Remember when Snape was going mental because half of his ginger supplies were missing, only for Beauchamp to admit she'd been dying for a curry the other night, and give him an I.O.U.?" he pointed out, whilst staring out Draco from the other side of the classroom until the boy averted his eyes. Ron laughed.

"His face was a picture!"

Hermione rapped their knuckles with her wand, demanding attention.

"That could easily have been a cover-up for something else. Plus, she is very pale, almost corpse-like."

"She does seem rather skinny..." Ron thought aloud. "But what about the magic? I thought vampires weren't magical in that way," he asked. Hermione thought about this for a moment.

"Well, I'd imagine if the person that was turned into a vampire was a wizard or witch in the first place, they'd be able to perform it all the same. Seeing as Beauchamp can perform wandless magic, I'd say it's perfectly logical that she's been around a lot longer than she appears to have. I asked McGonagall about it, and she said it was something anybody could learn, but it takes a lot of hard work and training, and that most modern witches and wizards don't bother," she finished, before suddenly clicking her fingers as though she'd remembered something.

"And remember when Snape took over our lesson, and taught us about vampires?" she exclaimed. "He pulled the same trick when Lupin was teaching, and set us a werewolf essay, hoping we'd spot the signs. Except Beauchamp returned before he had a chance to set any homework..."

"And Nearly Headless Nick bumped into her, and Hagrid mentioned only the undead can do that, such as vampires," Harry added. Hermione nodded.

"Precisely," she said, whilst neatly conjuring a daffodil from between the stone slabs of the floor.

"Oh, well done, Miss. Granger!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed, as he was passing. Hermione beamed, and bent down to pick the flower from the floor. Harry was glad he hadn't seen his earlier attempt, which resembled half a watermelon. At least he'd faired better than Ron, who ended up conjuring a bag of self-raising flour in a simple homophonic error he claimed could happen to anyone.

A sudden crash and a few squeals, followed by the ground shaking under Harry's feet indicated that somebody had made an even more impressive mistake than Ron. Looking across the room, Harry noticed with some amusement that Draco was looking very embarrassed, with a huge oak tree standing in the middle of the classroom where a flower should have been. Poor Professor Flitwick had to disentangle himself from between the branches, before summoning a cushion from near the doorway to break his fall.

"Not to worry, Mr. Malfoy," he said, kindly. "It's easily sorted- you just lost concentration, that's all. Try to focus a little harder next time. Miss Granger!" He called over to Hermione. "Would you come over here and show Mr. Malfoy how it's done?"

"What, me?" Hermione replied in shock, forgetting her manners for a moment, "Oh... of course, Professor," she managed to recover, before grimacing to Ron and Harry and walking over to a clearly enraged Draco.

Ron nudged Harry in the ribs.

"What in Merlin's name is Flitwick thinking!" he exclaimed, "Even Beauchamp wouldn't try something that dumb, and she hasn't got a clue about our houses!"

"Inter-House unity," Harry sighed, miming inverted commas with his index and middle fingers. He looked over at Draco and Hermione, and was a little surprised to find Draco appearing awkward, whilst Hermione briskly demonstrated the Conjuring Charm, and encouraged him to repeat it, whilst a practically snarling Pansy Parkinson looked on. After a few attempts, Draco managed to produce a small purple pansy, which seemed to please the Slytherin girl of the same name stood next to him, and allowed a clearly relieved Hermione to leave them to it. Before she managed to, Draco grabbed her upper arm and forced her to face him, saying something that made Hermione glare at him angrily.

"Ooh, that Malfoy!" Hermione huffed, as she rejoined Harry and Ron, the latter of who looked aggressively across at Draco.

"What did he say?" he half asked, half demanded of Hermione, rolling up his sleeves. "I'll make sure he doesn't open his mouth again, the little..."

"Language, Mr. Weasley!" a shocked Professor Flitwick warned him as he passed. Hermione shook her head.

"Nothing that matters- he's just a stupid little boy," she seethed. Harry patted her arm comfortingly.

"You said it," he added, and Hermione calmed down and flashed them both a smile.

"I suppose it was worth it to see that cow Pansy get so angry," she replied, mischievously.

Later in the evening, Harry found himself sitting in the magnificently decorated Great Hall, with many excited first year Gryffindors asking Hermione lots of questions about the enchanted ceiling and whether the bats were alive, and would they land in their pumpkin soup, which she answered thoroughly and with patience.

"Aren't you lot just hungry?" Ron moaned to the giggling first years.

"Ron!" Hermione chided. "They're just hungry for knowledge."

Ron howled with derision at this.

"Oh, Hermione," he gasped, between sniggers. "That was cheesier than this pie I'm eating!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Which, I suppose, would be a cheese pie?" she asked, darkly. Ron's laughter subsided.

"Actually, it's cheese and onion, but you get the idea," he replied.

Harry had to admit the Hall did look spectacular as usual. Huge glittering cobwebs hung across the ceiling, which some of the smaller bats had managed to get caught in for a few moments. There were candles lining the walls, suspended seven feet into the air with flames that glowed each of the house colours in turn, and a smattering of gigantic pumpkins with a myriad of funny faces carved into them. Harry particularly liked the one that looked as though it was about to throw up, and imagined that, were Fred and George Weasley still at school, it would have had the pumpkin seeds and flesh arranged strategically around the gash of its mouth to complement the effect. Tucking into his soup, he wondered if the House ghosts would make an appearance this evening. They seemed to be a bit wary of being anywhere in the vicinity of Professor Beauchamp, which Harry was surprised that so few people had noticed.

He felt a small tap on his shoulder, and looked down to see a tiny first year boy, whom Harry recognised as Brian Anderson, stood next to him,

"Are you going to be the seeker on the student Quidditch team this year?" he asked. Harry managed a smile.

"Well, I hope so. I have to beat the Slytherin seeker to the position though," he replied. Brian grinned.

"Good luck. Do you know if we'll have house teams again? I'd been looking forward to trying out- I practice with my dad, and he reckons I could be a chaser!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically.

"I hope so. Maybe next year we will be able to play as four houses rather than one," Harry replied.

"Cool," Brian answered, satisfied with Harry's response, before sitting back down and continuing to eat his pie and vegetables.

Ginny came to sit down at the table, having walked in with Colin and Luna.

"Hey," she greeted them. "We've just had our usual fun Potions lesson, haven't we?"

Colin and Luna nodded in sarcastic agreement, the latter doing so in a slightly more wistful fashion. Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that some of the Ravenclaws were pointing at Luna, then turning and giggling between themselves. Harry found he felt rather annoyed by them on her behalf, and turned to face Luna.

"Do you want to sit with us?" he asked. Luna seemed shocked.

"Okay," she replied, and sat next to him. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, but greeted her in a friendly manner.

"What happened in Potions, then?" Hermione asked Luna, by way of starting up a conversation. Luna jolted her head to face her.

"Oh, nothing much. Snape was a little offhand with us, but that isn't unusual. What's unusual is that he seems a bit jumpy," she replied, absently. Ginny looked at her,

"You think?" she asked. Luna nodded. Hermione frowned.

"Well, it's possible it may have something to do with Beauchamp," she replied. Ginny and Luna suddenly looked interested.

"Ooh, why?" Ginny asked. Luna smiled shrewdly, and looked directly at Hermione.

"I did think they had some kind of relationship going on. He acts oddly around her," she replied, her words causing Ron to blanche slightly and pull a revolted face.

"Eurgh! Beauchamp's way too young for him!" he retorted, pushing his plate away. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, and Hermione leant forward and quietly explained her vampire theory to Ginny and Luna, who seemed intrigued.

"Wow- I suppose it's possible," Ginny replied. Luna looked askance at Hermione.

"I doubt it. Daddy says vampires can't channel magic."

"What if they started out as wizards or witches? I read up on the subject, and couldn't find anything to support the theory that they lose their magical ability as a result."

Luna rolled her eyes, but in a benevolent manner.

"Hermione," she replied. "You need to learn that the answer to all life's problems will not be found locked up in a book!"

Ron smothered his giggles by pretending to drink some pumpkin juice, and Luna looked a little pleased. Hermione bristled, and fought to keep her voice under control.

"Well," she asked, "what do you think it is, then?"

Luna shrugged.

"Dunno, but I reckon Professor Snape will be the first to find out," she replied, knowingly.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, both feeling slightly nauseous at Luna's insinuations.

At that point, a large, fairly old looking owl swept haughtily into the Great Hall, brushing past the bats that appeared to shriek collectively and fly to safety in a corner of the room, causing a group of Hufflepuffs to cover up their soup as they flew past. The owl swooped over to the High Table and dropped a rolled up parchment neatly into Professor Beauchamp's lap. She offered the owl some water that she tipped out of her goblet into a nearby saucer, though Harry thought he heard her say something about it probably preferring one of the bats. It was at this point he managed to see the parchment, and it looked oddly familiar- metallic silver seals were not a common way to seal parchments. He watched Snape and McGonagall, who were sitting either side of her, peer over at it, only for her to stuff it quickly into a pocket on her robes and glare at them both reproachfully. Glancing around, she suddenly got up and walked out of the Hall, the other teachers appearing surprised by her behaviour.

"Wow, she wanted that to remain a secret," Ginny commented. Luna smiled dreamily.

"Maybe she has a lover?"

"Maybe she has a secret," Harry responded, darkly. Ron and Hermione looked over at him.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry leant over to them.

"That parchment. It looks familiar," he replied.

"How so?" Ron asked.

"Remember when you asked me where that tenth parchment from Sirius' reading was? Well, I think we've just found our answer," he replied, getting up to follow Beauchamp out of the room. Hermione grabbed his arm.

"Harry, wait- you don't know for certain..."

"I know she's got a parchment identical to the ones we received at Sirius' reading, and I know she's desperate for nobody else to see the contents, and I know I want to know what the hell is going on!" he retorted, before wrenching himself out of Hermione's grip and walking away from the table before she could protest.

He imagined Beauchamp must have gone to her office, which he knew from Lupin's extra classes a few years previously- not to mention his numerous detentions with Umbridge last year- was only two floors up from the Great Hall, so he broke into a run and pelted up the stairs, almost crashing into a suit of armour that tapped him on the shoulder in indignation. By the time he had got to her office, however, the door was firmly shut. Not to be put off, he tried to open it, and the handle didn't turn. He muttered a curse under his breath, and felt around in his pockets for something he could throw at the door- if it had an Imperturbable Charm placed on it, he could at least be certain she was in the room. At last, he found a screwed up piece of parchment, which he opened up and recalled as being his first marked Potions essay of the year. Screwing it back up and flinging it against the door, it bounced off without touching the heavy oak wood in a manner characteristic of something having been flung at an Imperturbed door. This level of secrecy from her distracted him from his original plan of finding out about Sirius at all costs.

Leaning against the door in frustration, Harry was able to make out Beauchamp's voice. Clearly, the Imperturbable Charm guarded against magical eavesdropping, but not against someone who decided to stand very close to the door. It sounded as though she was talking to herself, but Harry realised she must have been using the fire in her room to communicate. Briefly considering the moral ramifications of listening in on his teacher's conversations, he pressed his ear against the door and managed to catch snatches of conversation.

"Well, it appears that way, Al. It's definitely from him... I'm kind of sad about it, actually; he was all right for a psychopath... I didn't say he should have been put in there, did I? I just said he was... No, I don't believe Fudge was right in locking him up, nobody deserves that, and I believe what Black said about being falsely imprisoned... Good, good. Is she still refusing to eat anything yellow?... I thought she might. Still, it's better than her refusal to touch anything green in case it tainted her- I think we're making progress... Oh, I think I got away with it, but he was really pissed off- he had the nerve to change my lesson plan! I sorted him out though... No, no, no, don't worry, Al, he didn't find out. However, I found something out about him... Well, let's just say it turns out the star midfielder appears to have transferred... Yes, he is, and he's teaching here... He could be, I don't know. You haven't given me a lot to go on- tall, thin with a slightly contemptuous voice? From that description, I could be your man... He must do, it doesn't take much to find out during the interview, does it? 'If you'd be so kind as to lift up the sleeve of your left arm'... Yeah, it was a joke, you know... I'll endeavour to do so, don't you worry. Actually, did you get any more info from...?"

Harry felt his hand go numb, and moved it from the oak door. Silence greeted him from the other side of the door, and he felt his pulse rate quicken.

"Hold on, Al, there's someone at the door... I don't know how long for, it's probably just a student... Yeah, I'll speak to you later."

Harry tried to run, but before he got the chance to pull away, the heavy oak door opened, and Professor Beauchamp was stood in the frame, scrutinising him.

"What can I do for you, Harry?" she asked, her voice perfectly amiable. Harry gulped and tried to think up a suitable excuse.

"Erm, I was looking for my textbook. I think I may have left it in your classroom," he replied. Beauchamp looked at him incredulously.

"And you're looking for it now, whilst missing a perfectly good Halloween Feast?" she asked. Harry's eves narrowed a little.

"As are you," he replied. Beauchamp smiled.

"Touch?," she answered, shutting the door. "I'll just let you into the classroom."

He struggled to keep up with her long strides, but managed to follow her down a flight of stairs and round to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, which she opened with a simple 'Alohomora'. He entered the room and made a good show of examining all the desks and crawling under the tables, before emerging with no book in his hand.

"Can't have been here" he said, apologetically. "Sorry to have wasted your time, Professor."

"No problem, Harry," she replied. He made to walk back to the hall when she called after him.

"What was the name of the textbook?"

Harry froze.

"Erm... I think it was '101 Methods of Death and Disembowelment and How to Avoid Them'. I'm not certain, as it was Hermione's. I borrowed it off her, and you know what she's like- study, study, study," he laughed, nervously. Beauchamp raised her eyebrows slightly at him.

"Oh, okay. I'll let you know if I see it," she replied, locking the classroom door behind her with a spell from her wand. Harry rushed back to the Hall, wondering what on Earth he had just heard. None of it explained how, or why, she seemed to know Sirius. 'No, I don't believe Fudge was right in locking him up, nobody deserves that, especially when falsely imprisoned... I believe what Black said about being falsely imprisoned'- who else could she have been talking about? She clearly believed he had been innocent too, but why? And why were Beauchamp and her confidante so interested in Snape?

What perturbed Harry more, however, was the 'No, he didn't find out' that Beauchamp had assured her mystery friend of. Despite Luna's scepticism, Harry now suspected that Hermione had been right about Beauchamp all along.

Chapter Twelve: Memories

It was a cold November morning, when frost lay on the ground, that Harry and Ron trundled down to the Quidditch pitch.

"I didn't think we'd have to get up this early on a Saturday for a while," Ron grumbled, watching his breath make ghostly swirling patterns in the air as he spoke. Harry grinned.

"Ah, well- you didn't have Oliver Wood as captain," he replied. "He would have had us practicing instead of sleeping given half a chance."

"And I thought Angelina was bad," Ron grimaced.

Truth was, Harry hadn't minded having to get up this early. It gave him chance to send a letter to Lupin with Hedwig as soon as physically possible. He hoped beyond hope that Lupin would have any idea as to whether Sirius knew Professor Beauchamp- they had been such good friends, Sirius must have told him something, at least. Hedwig had been most unimpressed at being sent off to fly so close to her own bedtime, but Harry hoped Lupin would reply speedily, and that Hedwig may well bring him a reply by the time he had finished practise.

They saw Roger Davies in the distance, waving at them, and they broke into a brisk walk, feet crunching the frosted blades of grass in a rather satisfactory manner.

"Hello, lads!" Roger beamed. "You're keen! First ones here, you know." He looked at his watch. "The others should be arriving soon..."

On cue, the pitch began to fill up with a myriad of coloured robes. Harry recognised Zacharias Smith, who smiled broadly at him, and Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't. There were a few others present; a girl who Harry thought he recognised as Laura Madley in bright yellow robes, chatting to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who also gave Harry a wave once he spotted him. A group of Ravenclaws were conversing with Roger, of which Ron pointed out Mandy Brocklehurst to him. Draco had arrived, and was standing with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry realised, to his horror, that he and Ron were the only Gryffindors present.

"I hope we both get through," he said to Ron. "We can't have fewer that two Gryffindors on the team! That would be a travesty!"

Ron nodded.

"Especially if they had a load of Slytherins," he replied, through chattering teeth.

Suddenly, they heard a whistle blow, and realised Roger Davies was signalling for attention.

"Right, guys," he announced, slightly officiously. "Today is the day we separate our first team from our reserves. Now, I want you to form two teams, and we will play a Quidditch match. The team who wins will not necessarily be picked as the first team, as I will be watching for individual skills and teamwork! Now then, take your positions!" he instructed, picking people at random and throwing each team together. Harry found himself on the opposite team to Ron, with Crabbe and a Ravenclaw girl he couldn't place as Beaters, Zacharias Smith and Justin Finch-Fletchley as Chasers, and Mandy Brocklehurst as Keeper.

Roger strode over to the trunk containing the required Quidditch balls, opened it and flung them up into the air. The Snitch rushed out of sight, and the Quaffles and Bludgers sprang to their conventional positions. Roger flew up to the two teams on his broomstick; whistle in hand as though it had been glued there since he became Captain.

"Right, on my whistle, I want a good clean match- best of luck to you all!"

He blew on the whistle, and the game began. Harry kept an eye out for the Snitch, carefully scanning the horizon for signs of fluttering movement. He saw a flicker of something and nearly dived for it, but fortunately he spotted it was a sparrow before he embarrassed himself.

A Quaffle spun past his head, making him swerve and almost knock his glasses off his face. Harry could see that Zacharias was rushing after it. Soon he deftly caught it and threw it to Justin, who fumbled a little but caught it as well, and flew off, avoiding the two opposing Beaters who were now chasing after him. He managed to pass back to Zacharias, who aimed it into the Quaffle hoop guarded by yet another Ravenclaw girl he didn't recognise. It arced around her and landed through the hoop, and Harry had to admit Zacharias had style- he doubted whether Oliver Wood could have saved that goal. Roger shouted something along the lines of "10-0!" by which time it had changed to "10-10!" as Ron missed an admittedly difficult save courtesy of Laura Madley on the opposing team. To his credit though, Harry thought, he had saved all the average shots lobbed at their Quaffle hoop, not to mention a quite tricky one, shot at him by a Ravenclaw girl Harry thought was called Alison.

Suddenly, a Bludger came at him out of nowhere, leaving him with very little time to duck. Harry contemplated spinning upside-down on his broom to avoid it, but just as he realised that he wouldn't have enough time to complete the manoeuvre without getting hit on the head, a bat stuck out in front of him and smashed the Bludger towards the opposing team. Harry shook his head to alleviate the shock,

"Thanks- that was really quick," he said appreciatively to the person attached to the bat. On looking across at them, he was stunned to see it was Crabbe.

"We're playing to win, Potter," he replied, without a trace of a smile, before flying off. Harry was amazed. Partly from Crabbe missing an opportunity to see Harry humiliated, partly because it was the first time he could recall having ever heard the boy speak. He had a gruff voice that perfectly suited his physique, Harry absently thought, until he glanced across at Draco, perched on his broom at the other side of the pitch, and realised from his thunderstruck expression that he was also surprised to see Crabbe miss an opportunity to see Harry humiliated.

At that point, both Harry and Draco appeared to stare at each other. In actual fact, they were both staring at the Golden Snitch, which had flitted into view and was now flapping, almost mockingly, between the two of them. Draco started to speed towards it on his broom just a fraction of a second faster than Harry did. Despite Harry's superior Firebolt, Draco was going to get there first, Harry could tell. Judging by the smirk on Draco's face, he could tell as well. Nevertheless, Harry sped forward, determined to at least try. The Snitch spun around a little, but stayed where it was, somehow seemingly unable to move. Draco's hand was almost on it; around the same time Ron saved another goal and smacked the offending Quaffle across the pitch.

Draco looked up at Harry, his arm outstretched, with a look of triumph. This look of triumph was soon replaced by a look of astonishment as the offending Quaffle Ron sent zooming across the pitch smacked him clean across the jaw and sent him reeling off course. Harry nipped forward and grabbed the Snitch, ending the match with his team 150 points better off.

Both team members flew down to the ground of the pitch expectantly, where Roger Davies was ticking off boxes and frowning. After a few agonising minutes of doing so, he eventually looked up.

"Right," he said, officiously, "After much deliberation, from watching your playing out there, I have decided upon a First and Reserve team..."

The groups of players collectively held their breath.

"The First team will consist of the following: Beaters, Crabbe and Goyle."

The aforementioned boys grinned at each other, and at Draco, who managed a smile.

"Chasers, after myself of course..." Here, the crowd groaned in mock derision. "Madley and Smith."

"Erm, which Smith?" a voice Harry didn't recognise piped up. Roger looked a little confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, there are two Smith's out here who were playing as Chasers," the same voice replied. The crowd groaned again.

"Oh, my apologies, Alison- I meant Smith from Hufflepuff."

Harry saw Zacharias punch the air and hiss, "Yes!"

Alison Smith looked furious, and glared at Roger, who shrugged repentantly.

"Right, Keeper: Weasley," Roger continued, and Ron looked as though he had just taken a Bludger to the stomach.

"Me?" he managed to wheeze, in disbelief. Harry grinned, and slapped him on the back.

"How many other Weasleys are out here?" he asked.

"And finally," Roger announced, "Seeker: Potter. Congratulations, guys; the rest of you, commiserations, it was a really difficult decision as you were all brilliant, but you will all be on the Reserve team. I will send details round to all of you concerning out first practise, which I would imagine will be sometime at the beginning of next term."

The crowd began to wander off, a few people on the team coming up to congratulate Ron and Harry, with the exception of Crabbe and Goyle, which suited Harry fine. His stomach had done enough flips of shock in that match, on top of waiting to find out if he made the team, that he felt congratulations from those two would have sent him catatonic with astonishment.

"Wicked! We both made the team- go Gryffindor!" Ron sang, whilst managing to do a little celebratory jig.

"Yeah- it's a pity Hermione didn't get to see this," Harry added. Ron grinned.

"Yeah, she'd have loved to see Draco get hit across the face with a Quaffle! I'm so proud!" he exclaimed, piously.

Draco walked past them, then turned on his heel as he heard Ron's words.

"I bet you'd love to show off to that Mudblood," he spat. "You and your Muggle-loving family are a disgrace to the wizarding world!"

He pushed Ron, which had little effect but to make Ron stumble a little and glare at Draco.

"Shut up, Reserve boy," he mocked. "Your dad's more of a disgrace to the wizarding world than mine- my old man's never ended up in Azkaban."

Draco balled up his fists in anger. Harry merely looked across at him.

"Anyway, what do you care if Ron's showing off to Hermione? Jealous?" he asked sardonically, ignoring Ron's protestations of not showing off to Hermione in the slightest. Draco continued to glare at him, but Crabbe and Goyle, who had been watching from a meter or so away, had walked back up to them. Crabbe put a hand on Draco's shoulder and shook his head.

"Leave it, Draco," he muttered, pointedly. Draco gave the two Gryffindors one last nasty look before heeding his advice and leaving the pitch.

"Well, that was odd," Harry remarked. Ron shrugged.

"They are odd. Here, Harry," he asked suddenly, "have you ever heard Crabbe or Goyle speak before?"

Harry shrugged and recounted the episode on the Quidditch pitch, which caused Ron's eyes to widen.

"Blimey, they really wanted to get on the team!" he replied.

"Where is Hermione, anyway?" Harry asked. Ron's facial expression changed to one noticeably darker.

"I heard Lavender giggle that Hermione got an owl from Bulgaria," he said, though Harry imagined it was through gritted teeth.

"Viktor Krum?" he asked. Ron nodded,

"Who else would it be? She's probably spent the last two hours reading, analysing, dissecting and making notes on his letter. Honestly," he grumbled, "she's as bad as Ginny. Why can't they just stick to nice, suitable guys?"

"Ron," Harry sighed, "you turn over protectiveness into a branch of magical study. I know you won't ever like any of Ginny's boyfriends, but what about Hermione's?"

Ron merely shrugged, and walked off towards the school, forcing Harry to jog to keep up with him.

They found Hermione curled up in the common room, scrutinising a lengthy piece of parchment, a perturbed expression on her face. Harry saw from the lack of Hedwig that Lupin had yet to reply to his letter, and wondered if he'd been a little optimistic as to the speed of owl post. Ron sat down next to Hermione in a manner clumsy enough to distract her from her reading.

"Well, did Vicky send you an interesting letter?" he mocked, causing her to glower at him.

"Viktor, Ron. How many times do I have to correct you?" she replied, coldly. Harry suppressed a laugh.

"Don't you want to know how we got on at Quidditch today, Hermione?" he asked, teasingly. Hermione blushed, and then put her hand to her mouth in horror.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I was going to come and see you too, but I just..."

"You just got distracted by Krum. It's okay, we understand where we come on your list of priorities," Ron huffed. Hermione shot him a glance.

"Don't be so stupid, Ron. How did you get on?" she asked. Harry beamed.

"We both made the team," he replied. Hermione beamed and clapped her hands together.

"Oh, congratulations! I knew you'd both do it!" she exclaimed. Ron raised an eyebrow at her.

"Liar," he retorted. Hermione's expression faltered.

"I'm going to ignore that, Ron, and instead explain why I was so caught up in Viktor's letter. He managed to answer quite a few of my questions concerning Professor Beauchamp," she replied, in a conspiratorial whisper. Harry and Ron sat closer to her in interest.

"We're all ears, Hermione," Harry said, with Ron nodding in agreement. Hermione cleared her throat.

"Well, he's known Persephone for years, since he first started at Durmstrang. She was dating the Quidditch captain, and playing position of Beater, and persuaded this bloke- I think Viktor said his name was Ioan- to let him play Seeker when he was in his first year, and she was in her third. Anyway, they were pretty good friends throughout their time at Durmstrang, they had kept in touch since she left after taking her O.W.L.s. He said she never really told him why she had to swap schools, except that her aunt, who was raising her, told her that she had a place to study at Beauxbatons, and that it would be good for her to improve her language skills- apparently she can speak five different languages," she rattled off, clearly interested in her subject matter.

"Okay," Ron replied, impatiently, "What else did he say?"

"Sorry," she said, before returning to the point in hand. "Anyway, they kept in touch via owl whilst she was at Beauxbatons. She told him that her aunt and Karkaroff had some huge argument in his office just before she was moved from the one school to the other. Viktor also mentioned that Karkaroff seemed a bit wary, almost frightened of her, towards the end of her O.W.L. years. She was a bit of a troublemaker, he says- apparently she once charmed someone's Potions essay so that it contained the phrase 'I blow goats' at random intervals, which of course wouldn't show up under a spellchecker charm."

Harry glanced across at Ron, who looked as though he had already made a mental note to see if he could replicate said charm in time for their Transfiguration lesson that day.

"Does he know what happened to her after she left Beauxbatons?" Harry asked.

"Yes and no," Hermione replied. "They are in touch even now, but she was evasive as to her line of work. The only job he was aware of was the one she's taken here, as she asked him about Hogwarts, knowing he'd visited. That's not what's interesting, though."

Hermione left the statement hanging, waiting for a response.

"What was?" Ron asked, wide-eyed.

"Viktor says she suffers from amnesia," she finished.

"Amnesia? What is it she can't remember, then?" Harry asked. Hermione smiled grimly.

"Anything before she was about six or seven. According to Viktor-" Harry noticed Ron pull a face at this. Hermione, however, didn't. "The earliest memory she has is of waking up in a hospital bed with a bunch of flowers in her hand, and asking the shocked healer nearby for a sandwich. Everything after that is pretty clear, but anything before, she can't recall a single detail."

Ron's eyebrows collided at the top of his head in surprise.

"In her hands? Why wouldn't she have the flowers in a vase on her bedside table, like normal people?" he asked. Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"I've no idea, but Viktor was clear in the letter that she woke up with them in her hand," she replied. Harry scratched his head absently.

"Interesting," he commented, as Ginny entered the common room.

"What's interesting?" she asked. Harry gave her a truncated version of Hermione's admittedly slightly rambling account of Professor Beauchamp's school days.

"Whoa. Do you think she's had a memory charm put on her? It would explain what she was doing in our Potions class today."

Hermione looked up at her in curiosity.

"Huh?"

"Well, she came in a couple of times, borrowing stuff off Snape. I managed to sneak a look at some of it whilst going to collect some hellebore plants. She had some Jobberknoll feathers..."

"A key ingredient in memory potions," Hermione thought aloud, "so she's trying to cure it?"

"Wouldn't you?" Ron replied, incredulous. "If I lost a huge part of my memory, I'd want to remember it!"

"Would you?" Harry asked, not quite looking at Ron. "What if it was something awful? Perhaps there's a reason she's been made to forget her younger years."

"I would have said it was her being turned, if she is a vampire, except that six years old is far too young for it to have happened- otherwise she wouldn't have aged this far," Hermione added, absently glancing at her watch. She jumped up in shock.

"Oh, my! We've got Transfiguration in a few minutes!" she exclaimed, grabbing her bag. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Oh great, more lessons with Malfoy," he groaned. "I'm telling you, he was being a right weirdo during Quidditch... did I mention I almost knocked him off his broom when I saved a goal?"

Ginny smiled.

"Cool! Did you make the team?" she asked. Ron and Harry nodded in the affirmative.

"What was Malfoy doing this time?" Hermione asked, as they left the common room. Harry sighed and recounted the events after the Quidditch trial. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Odd. How very odd... you don't suppose his father being sent to Azkaban has sent him a little, you know..."

"Doolally?" Ron suggested, then laughed. "Now that would be priceless!"

They reached their Transfiguration classroom fairly quickly, but only just before Professor McGonagall, who ushered them in with an air of impatience.

"Come on, come on," she said, briskly, as they hurried to find their seats. Harry had to walk past Draco, who managed to sneer at him even during that brief moment.

"He's really scraping the barrel with threats now," Ron commented in a whisper. Harry sniggered as he sat down.

"Right class, today we shall be looking at replication spells. Now, who can tell me what you might use a replication spell for?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione's hand, predictably, shot up.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Replication spells are ideal for something as simple as creating an extra chair for someone who has unexpectedly stopped by, to confusing an opponent in a Wizards' Duel if you are able to replicate yourself. The replicated item will only last an hour or so, though."

"Well done, Miss. Granger, five points to Gryffindor for the correct answer, and I feel you deserve another five points for showing such applied knowledge," McGonagall replied, clearly pleased by Hermione's answer. Pansy nudged Draco and whispered something to him, which caused him to snigger and look in Hermione's direction. Harry saw Ron glare back at him.

"One of these days," Ron hissed to Harry, "I'm going to throttle that git!"

McGonagall clapped her hands for attention, and the entire class sat up even more rigidly than they had been to begin with.

"You will each find on your desks three objects, an inanimate object of some sort, a variety of plant, and a species of animal. Don't look across at your classmate's desk, as they will certainly have different items to you," McGonagall warned, looking in Ron's direction, who feigned umbrage at her words.

"The basic descriptive method for replication is in your textbooks, which I'm sure you've all read in time for this lesson. I will be here if you need to ask any questions. Now, carry on," she finished, and the class began pointing their wands at assorted quills, snuff boxes, flowers, mice and snails.

"Wow, this is actually really fun to do!" Hermione exclaimed, as she pointed her wand at the frog on her desk until she had around six lethargically hopping along, which she quickly used 'Finite Incantatum' on to stop them escaping and knocking her ink pot over. Ron stared sadly at his pot of nasturtiums, which he had managed to make change colour from red to yellow.

"Well, it's something," Harry commented, encouragingly. After all, it was better than his own attempt; he'd managed to splice his quill into two halves, and after that hadn't dared to risk trying the spell out on his mouse, which had squeaked in fright and hidden in Hermione's robe pocket on witnessing the quill incident.

McGonagall started inspecting the class.

"Well done, Miss Granger... Oh dear, Mr. Potter, what in Merlin have you managed to do to that quill?"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm really not sure, Professor," he replied, apologetically, which caused Hermione to start helping him to fix the problem almost instantaneously. Ron managed to make his pot of nasturtium duplicate just before McGonagall turned away.

"Well done, Mr. Weasley," she added, with a warm smile that suggested she was pleasantly surprised at his success, before turning to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, may I have a word?" she asked. Harry gulped and nodded, following her to her desk. Surely he couldn't be in trouble for not managing that spell- he'd only tried it the once.

She beckoned him to sit in a chair next to her desk, and he obeyed.

"I trust things are alright, Mr Potter?" she asked in a stern tone, yet Harry could detect the concern in her voice.

"Yeah, things are fine? Why wouldn't they be?" he replied, confused. Professor McGonagall took off her glasses and wiped them on a piece of linen cloth,

"Alb... Professor Dumbledore has informed me of a certain-" she appeared to be choosing her words carefully, "situation concerning you that he told you about last term. I just wanted to know... If it's affecting your schoolwork, I'll understand."

Harry felt a flush of anger in the pit of his stomach, which he fought to quell. She was talking about the prophecy, but why ask him about it now, of all times? He could only assume she though his difficulty in this one spell was the symptom of Voldemort and that damnable prophecy.

"Professor," he replied, fighting to keep the vexation in his voice to a minimum, "yes, I am aware of the... situation, and it is not affecting my studies! I just had difficulty with this one spell! I usually have to try a few times before I get these things right, I'm not Hermione!"

McGonagall put a firm hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"I wasn't suggesting this particular situation at all. I merely wanted you to know that I do understand you're under a lot of pressure at the moment, and if you need any extra help at all, I'll be only too happy to give you it."

Harry knew she meant well, but her words angered him. He wasn't some sort of charity case, someone to be pitied; he just had a prophecy to fulfil.

"Thanks," he managed to say, and surprised himself by how sincere it sounded. "But really, I'm okay."

"Have you told your friends?" was McGonagall's quick reply, glancing across at Hermione and Ron.

"Not yet, but..."

McGonagall's eyes widened, and she leapt off her seat.

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" she barked, storming towards Ron and Draco, who were stood up straight, eyeballing each other. Harry saw that both Ron and Draco were trying to throw punches at each other, but were being restrained by Hermione and Pansy, respectively. Ron was so tall, however, that Hermione had to stand on her tiptoes to keep him pulled back. At one point, Ron pulled his right arm forward towards Draco so sharply, Hermione was lifted off the floor. McGonagall had to stand in between them, a firm hand on each of their shoulders, to physically restrain them.

"I don't know what you both think you're playing at, duelling like Muggles in my classroom, indeed!"

"But Malfoy..." Ron began, but was cut off by Professor McGonagall.

"Silence! Both of you! Ten points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, and I want to see you both in my office tonight for detention!"

"Professor..." Draco tried to explain, but McGonagall gave him such a cold stare that he shut right up.

He and Ron glared at each other, then sat down.

"I bet if McGonagall knew what Malfoy had been saying, she wouldn't have been so eager to give me detention," he huffed.

"What happened?" Harry asked. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It was just Malfoy being Malfoy," she replied, but Ron looked at her in horror and interrupted.

"You didn't hear what he said, Harry," he added, angrily. "He was so rude to Hermione! Called her... well, I don't really want to repeat what he called her, but it was well nasty! You'd have thought 'Mudblood' was bad enough..."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who had coloured up.

"Well, yes it was rather unpleasant," she replied, clearly unwilling to go into details. "But he was just trying to make you angry, Ron!" she remonstrated. Ron glowered at an oblivious Draco.

"Yeah, well he did better than he wanted to," he seethed. "One of these days..."

"Mr. Weasley, I shall forget I heard that if you carry on quietly with today's work," McGonagall whispered sharply in his ear. 


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Thirteen: Faith in Hogwarts Part One

That evening, Ron made his way up to McGonagall's office from the Great Hall for his detention.

"I still don't think it's fair!" he huffed, "Malfoy started it!"

"I'll wait up for you," Harry said, which went some way to mollifying Ron.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione announced. Harry was not in the least bit surprised.

"I shan't ask what for," he joked. Hermione looked at him.

"Actually," she smiled slyly, "I'm planning to check the records from St. Mungo's. Madame Pince has access to them, and I might be able to sweet-talk her into letting me look at them. I'm in there so much, she's come to know me by my first name," she replied.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed into the bridge of his nose.

"What for?" he asked. Hermione rolled her eyes, but with a smile.

"Honestly, Harry, have you forgotten already? Viktor's letter?" she prompted, then on seeing the look of confusion on Harry's face, gave up.

"He told me about Beauchamp and her mysterious amnesia," she reminded him, "I reckon I might be able to find references to small girls waking up from comas in the St. Mungo's records."

Harry grinned.

"Well, good luck. I'll see you in the common-room," he shouted after her, as she veered away from their walking route to head off in the direction of the library.

Harry, reminded by Hermione's rambling about letters that he himself was waiting for a reply from Lupin, entered the common-room alone, to find Ginny fast asleep on the rug in front of the fire, her small frame stretched elegantly across the entire length of the fireplace, preventing the heat from radiating out to the rest of the room. Dean and Neville were playing chess nearby.

"Haven't the heart to wake her," Dean said to Harry, as he moved his castle into position against Neville's knight. Harry, on seeing that Hedwig had not returned, pulled up a chair near them and watched them play, occasionally looking over at Ginny to see if she stirred.

"Where's Ron?" Neville asked, sometime into their next game.

"Detention," Harry replied. Dean laughed.

"From McGonagall?" he asked. Harry nodded, which caused Dean to laugh louder and nudge Neville.

"Here," Dean asked Harry, "what happened in Transfiguration anyway? One minute Ron and Hermione were practising replication charms and Malfoy was looking at them, the next he and Ron were trying to tear each other's throats out!"

"Oh, I didn't see it myself, but Ron said that Malfoy said something really nasty to Hermione, and he got pretty angry at him."

Neville stifled a snigger. Dean looked at Harry with interest.

"What did he say?" Dean asked. Harry shrugged.

"They wouldn't say. Whatever it was, it really offended Hermione," he replied.

Dean was about to say something, but both he and Harry were distracted by the quivering mass of sleeping girl that was Ginny, who evidently was no longer sleeping. She pulled herself smoothly up into a sitting position, stretched her arms out above her head, and yawned.

"Why has my brother got himself into trouble this time?" she asked, sleepily. Harry smiled.

"Malfoy was being horrible to Hermione, so he tried to defend her. That's Ron for you," he said. Neville looked up.

"Especially when Hermione's concerned," he added. Ginny giggled into her sleeve.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused by Neville's response.

"Well, he is really protective of her," he explained. Harry nodded, as he could hardly deny this.

"It's really quite sweet," Ginny added.

At that moment, Ron entered the room, looking thoroughly miffed.

"Do you know what I have spent the past two hours doing?" he asked, though clearly expecting no reply, as he launched into his answer almost immediately. "McGonagall only had me and Malfoy cleaning out the cages of all the mice she uses for her classes! After those replication spells, you can't imagine the mess! I don't know which was worse, the job, or spending so much time with that little git! Oh, and Beauchamp was there, no doubt she'll royally take the mickey out of us next lesson!"

He slumped into an armchair, exhaling wearily as he did so, and Ginny proceeded to sit on the armrest.

"Oh well, I'm sure it was worth it," she soothed, with a wide grin on her face. Ron looked askance at her.

"What are you on about?"

"Protecting Hermione's honour, of course," she replied, breezily. Ron nearly jumped out of his chair.

"Well, she's my friend! What else would you have me do?" he exclaimed. Ginny merely continued to grin, which resulted in Ron messing up her hair and calling her a busybody.

"Where is Hermione, anyway?" Ginny asked, looking around as though she expected the girl in question to come bounding through the door at any moment.

"Where do you think?" Ron replied, dryly.

"Oh, library," Ginny replied, focussing her attention away from Ron and towards Dean, the scene of which Ron averted his eyes from in mild disgust. Harry tried not to laugh.

"That girl's mad," Neville commented, lifting his head from a copy of the Daily Prophet for a moment. "It's ten to eleven, and she's still in the library? What does she do in there all evening?"

"Reads stuff. Lots of stuff," Ron replied, lethargically.

"Or gets a date to the Yule Ball," Ginny quipped.

It was about half past eleven, Harry noted, before Hermione returned to the common room. By this time, Dean and Neville had long gone to bed, and Ginny had just gone up to the girls' dormitories.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry called, "find out anything interesting?"

Hermione's face went an odd shade of pink and her eyes widened.

"Nope, nothing at all," she replied, tersely, before passing them both and heading for the stairs to the girls' dormitories without a word.

"Oi, Hermione? What about Beauchamp?" Ron shouted, staring after her.

"I didn't find anything, there are only seven records of any Beauchamps that have been admitted to St. Mungo's for the last three hundred years, and of those, none had the initial P or were in comas," she replied, from a distance.

"Oh well," Harry replied, "Better luck tomorrow. Does Madame Pince have a European reference list? Perhaps she was admitted somewhere in the Eastern Block, or maybe France?"

"I'm never going in that library ever again," was Hermione's indignant reply, before the door slammed and Harry heard footsteps run up the stone stairs.

Harry exchanged glances with an equally bewildered Ron.

"What's eating her?" he asked, looking puzzled. Harry shrugged, but his facial features registered deep concern.

"I don't know, but if she's never going to the library again, it's got to be serious."

There was a buzz of excitement in Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts class the next day. Professor Beauchamp had promised to give them an interesting lesson on vampires, and Hermione, for one, was very eager to find out what that entailed.

"It's not that I don't trust her," she explained, straining in her seat to see if Beauchamp had reached the class yet. "It's just that she is rather gung-ho about some things, and I think her reference to letting us meet some Dark Creatures under controlled conditions may well stretch to vampires."

Ron smirked.

"No chance, even Hagrid wouldn't be that nuts, never mind Beauchamp!"

Harry wasn't so sure. If Beauchamp was happy to let their class see her and an ex-Death Eater teacher nearly kill each other in a Wizard's Duel, she would probably be just as happy to bring in a vampire for the class to gawp at.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco enter the classroom, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, with Pansy next to them. Expecting some sort of confrontation, he was stunned to see Draco just walk straight past without so much as a glare in their direction. Hermione was palpably relieved.

"Hooray! He's finally got himself a life!" Ron cheered, within earshot of Draco. "Perhaps now he'll learn how not to squeal like a baby when he gets bitten by a mouse!"

Draco's mouth set in a scowl, and he turned to square off with Ron.

"You just..."

"Now, now, boys," Professor Beauchamp drawled lazily, on shutting the classroom door. "Will I have to give you a detention like Professor McGonagall? I reckon I'd just give you lines, though, 'I must not fight over girls...'," she laughed, miming the action of writing in mid-air with her finger. Both boys stared at her.

"I was not fighting over a girl!" both Ron and Draco managed to say in synchronicity, albeit in different tones- the former being one of indignation, the latter being one of disgust. Hermione sighed and flipped to a chapter in her textbook. Beauchamp merely looked at them.

"Sit down, boys," she said, quietly, and both boys complied.

"Right, class," Beauchamp began. "Today, we are going to be studying vampires. Now, I have a friend of mine who will be attending the lesson in order to show you what a real vampire looks like, but he's been held up, so until he gets here, we'll have a little revision session to see how much you already know. Who can tell me," she queried, "the main descriptive characteristics of a vampire?"

Hermione's hand shot up. Beauchamp nodded at her to answer.

"Well, vampires look similar to humans, except they can be distinguished by attributes such as having a ruddy complexion, a slightly bloated physique, long hair and long fingernails, and a tendency to have blood around their mouths."

The class burst into laughter. Beauchamp smiled.

"Laugh if you want, but Hermione's correct. Unless your suspected vampire is lying in a coffin at the time, it's damn near impossible to tell a vampire from Ozzy Osbourne."

The class looked confused, and a few of them exchanged curious glances.

"A Muggle vocalist," Beauchamp clarified. "I'll see if I can find a photograph- you'll see exactly what I mean. Now, can anybody tell me of other methods by which you might be able to positively identify a vampire?"

Hermione put her hand up again. Beauchamp waited to see if anybody else would raise their hands, then nodded for Hermione to answer.

"They have an aversion to items of religious significance, so if you waved a crucifix at one, they would certainly react."

"Hmm. Close, Hermione, but not quite correct."

Hermione looked astonished.

"But Professor, I read it in the textbook you recommended!" she exclaimed. Beauchamp smiled.

"One of the reasons I recommended such textbooks was to get you all thinking. I have researched many texts claiming to be definitive resources on vampires, and found most of them to be, at best, misleading. May I?" Beauchamp asked, gesturing for Hermione to hand over her textbook. She complied with the request.

Beauchamp moved to sit on her desk at this point, and began to read out some facts from Hermione's textbook.

"Firstly, the religious items fact is a bit of a misnomer, purely because one has to have faith in the religion which the symbol depicts. For example; Hermione, if it's not too personal a question, are you a devout Christian?"

Hermione shook her head.

"My family and I go to Church at Christmas, but that's about it."

"Then that pendant wouldn't do squat in repelling a vampire," Beauchamp replied, pointing at the small cross-shaped pendant Hermione wore around her neck. The class looked at their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in shock, then quickly began to scribble down notes.

"Yet," she continued, "ironically enough, blessed items will kill a vampire. Holy Water- I've got a vial or two of that in my desk here- that works. The most useful item to ward off a vampire with has to be a blessed sword, though. A single blow will destroy even the most ancient of vampires," she added.

"Have you got one here?" Seamus asked, excitedly. Beauchamp laughed.

"I wish! I've been trying to get one for ages. Even went to Sri Lanka in the search for one. Never found it," she sighed, continuing to scan the book still in her hand, until she prodded her finger against a particular page.

"Okay, we're going to play a true or false game. I'll read out a fact from this book, and I want you all to vote on whether it's true or false. Here's the first one, 'Direct sunlight will kill a vampire'. What do we think?"

The class raised their hands as they saw fit to vote for either true or false.

"Actually, it's false! Direct sunlight will certainly weaken a vampire, but it won't kill one... Here's another; 'vampires can only enter a building if invited'- true or false?"

It turned out to be true, although the condition apparently only applied to private chambers, and even then could be overcome by older, stronger vampires. It also turned out that vampires really could scale walls with ease, though nobody seems to know why. Harry's head was swimming a little by the end of it, especially when Beauchamp explained how vampires are obsessive about counting and untangling objects.

"So, unless you're certain of your faith, it might be more prudent to throw a suspected vampire a net-bag of Satsumas rather than a cross," she announced.

Suddenly, Beauchamp stopped still, and tilted her head towards the window of the classroom.

"What's that scuttling noise?" she muttered, though Harry could hear nothing but silence. Beauchamp advanced to the window, when it promptly shattered in front of her. The class screamed as a tall, rangy man with long black hair and an animalistic snarl jumped through the space where the window once stood and sped past the class at lightening speed, hurling Beauchamp into the nearest wall. She slumped to the floor.

"Who was that?" Harry heard an anxious voice shout. On turning round, he was able to identify the voice as belonging to Anthony Goldstein. He heard a small whimper next to him.

"I think it might be more a case of 'what is that'?" Hermione said, quietly, staying very still. Harry wondered why, until he saw the black haired figure slowly advancing towards her.

"Use a spell!" Ron cried.

"No!" Beauchamp commanded. "They're immune to most magic spells! You'll only make things worse!" she continued, picking herself up off the floor. Hermione averted her eyes from the figure in horror, and Harry noticed the stranger's upper canines suddenly shoot out over his lips.

Ron got up swiftly out of his chair, quickly followed by Harry, both desperately looking for some kind of distraction. Harry ran over to Beauchamp's desk, looking for that vial of Holy Water she had said she always kept to hand. Beauchamp was up on her feet and running full-pelt towards the figure bent over Hermione's neck, when unexpectedly, the vampire hissed and backed away from Hermione's shaking frame. Beauchamp looked a little puzzled, but still managed to grab the vampire by his shoulders and pull him to face her, swiftly punching him across the jaw repeatedly. It did precious little good; Harry could see the vampire had to be at least five times stronger than her, and although she managed to hold him off the rest of the class, he picked her up off the floor with ease and slammed her against the wall. The rest of the class winced in sympathy.

"Harry!" she yelled, as Harry was the closest to her desk, and managed to give the instruction, "A stake would be nice! Second drawer down!" just before she was punched in the stomach.

Harry fumbled with the catch and managed to find, nestled between a rack of impressive looking knives and some knuckle-dusters, a row of finely carved wooden stakes. He grabbed them and was about to throw one to Beauchamp, when he heard a sickening crack, and the class scream once again.

Beauchamp's left arm was hanging limply by her side, and the figure was bent over her neck. Ron, Hermione, and Neville had leapt out of their seats and were trying to drag the vampire away from Beauchamp, but it was no use. He had already plunged his teeth into her neck, and she let out a sharp cry of pain.

Almost as soon as Hell broke loose inside the classroom, with students cowering under their tables or trying to run for the door, the Vampire pulled away from Beauchamp, throwing her to the floor, and began spitting out her blood with a look of painful disgust on his face.

"What the hell are you!" he rasped, staring straight at Beauchamp. She laughed harshly, and lifted herself back onto her feet with her one good arm. Harry caught her looking at him, and threw her a stake. She caught it with ease, held it between her teeth, and in a blur, dragged the vampire onto her desk. She straddled him and thrust the stake straight into his heart, hammering it in with the heel of her foot. The class once again winced as his piercing screams echoed across the walls. Beauchamp quickly opened a drawer in her desk, and pulled out a menacing looking curved sword.

"Another myth- staking a vampire will kill it. Staking merely paralyses the vampire, preventing it from escaping this," she said, as calmly as though she was reciting from a textbook, before lifting her good arm high up into the air and bringing the sword down with a swift movement. It sliced through the vampire's neck and his body rapidly decomposed, the head rolling under Pavarti's desk. She shrieked in horror.

Beauchamp had already taken some garlic off a nearby shelf and begun to stuff it into the now decomposed neck of the ex-vampire, which caused some of the class to blanch, when Harry heard a voice smoothly say, "I think he's dead, Percy."

He looked across at the direction of the voice and saw a short, thin man with elegantly coiffured blonde hair and bloodshot eyes look calmly at Professor Beauchamp, who stared back at him in mild rebuke.

"You took your time; where have you been?" she snorted, though the effort of speaking showed in her breathing. The man laughed.

"Sorry, Percy. Faith prevented my hasty departure," he replied, cryptically. Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Typical. Have a seat, Gus," she panted, gesturing towards her chair. Gus merely smiled, and took her good hand in his manicured right hand, and led her to the seat.

"I think you ought to take a seat," he stated, and Beauchamp did as she was told, and also began to conjure a splint and sling for her left arm.

"Anyone else hurt?" Beauchamp asked the class, between ragged breaths. They collectively shook their heads.

"Plenty of you shocked, I'd imagine," Gus added, with a friendly smile. The class just stared at him as he knelt towards the severed head under Pavarti's desk and gingerly picked it up, examining it curiously.

"Anyone you knew?" Beauchamp asked, her breathing now more relaxed. The man shook his head, and placed the head on top of the chest of the decomposed body. He brushed down his powder-blue overcoat and plus fours, and adjusted the lace of his cuffs.

"I'd guess it was a gift from Voldemort; one of many to come, I'd presume," he replied, gruffly.

Most of the class winced at the man's casual mentioning of the name, and then continued to stare. Beauchamp suddenly came to her senses.

"Oh, I'm sorry, class, in the attempted blood-shed, I forgot to introduce you! This is my good friend Augustine Dougherty," she announced, and the class collectively managed a weak smile. Augustine was dressed as though he had walked out of a period drama- he actually wore white stockings that pulled up and under the cuffs of his plus-fours, and wore, Harry noticed, immaculately polished black shoes and a starched shirt.

On noticing Harry staring at him, Augustine lifted his head and smiled warmly at him,

"Harry Potter, I presume?" he more stated that asked, glancing at the scar on his forehead. Harry managed to nod.

"Yes, sir," he replied, hoarsely. The man smiled again, then was suddenly distracted by Hermione.

"My dear, you're a clever one," he guessed, astonishingly. "I imagine he singled you out. Are you alright, Miss?" he asked, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. Hermione acknowledged she was fine, when he suddenly recoiled his hand as though he had received an electric shock.

"Are you a devout Christian?" he asked. Hermione's eyes narrowed suddenly.

"You're a vampire!" she exclaimed.

"Since 1574," he replied, breezily. The class stared at him, then at Beauchamp, with a mixture of incredulity and horror.

"I told you I was going to introduce you to a vampire," Beauchamp replied, by way of an explanation. "Believe me, the first guy wasn't my idea," she added. She must have seen the looks of utter horror on the faces of her class, plus the sudden scraping back of chairs, for she quickly added.

"It's alright. I've known Augustine since I was sixteen. He's a good bloke, goes to butcher's shops to get his daily blood, like many of his kind."

This appeared to do little to quell the fear of most of the class, but Harry, Ron and Hermione at least trusted her words. Augustine seemed too interested in Hermione's pendant to notice the hostile reactions.

"Hmm, very interesting," he muttered.

"Oh yeah, I was wondering about that," Beauchamp commented, lazily. "The other bloke lost his appetite for my best year six student on touching that pendant. Any ideas?"

Hermione took off the pendant and held it close to Augustine, allowing him to look at it without getting close. He smiled appreciatively.

"My, my, you are a lady," he said, graciously, before kissing the back of her hand. Hermione did not flinch.

"When did you get it?" Beauchamp asked, from her seat.

"My parents bought it for me. It was a present for doing well in my O.W.L.s," Hermione replied. Augustine suddenly laughed heartily.

"Given in faith! Tell me, my dear," he asked, "do you believe you are good at spells and magic here?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, my marks have been good, and..." She glanced at Harry and Ron as she trailed off, who smiled, knowing full well many of her talents in spells and potions making had yet to be assessed in standardised conditions. Augustine smiled.

"Well, there you have it. A symbol that was given in faith of your intelligence; a faith you have since had in yourself. That counts as a symbol of faith, which is enough to drive off a vampire," he explained.

Suddenly, the door of the classroom burst open, and McGonagall and Snape rushed into the room,

"We heard the screams, what in Merlin's name happened?"

"Vampire attack. We're fine," Beauchamp replied, gesturing towards the desk. McGonagall recoiled from the corpse, but Snape bent over to inspect it.

"How did he get into the grounds?" he asked.

"That's what I've been wondering," she replied. She looked at Snape, and no doubt noticed the suspicious glare he was directing at her.

"I didn't let him in, if that's what you're thinking," she snapped back. "He broke through the window."

"It's a place of learning. All are welcome, even us," Augustine replied. There was a moment of excruciating silence as Snape and McGonagall stared at him in disbelief.

"Augustine..." he began to introduce himself, but was cut off by McGonagall.

"You brought a vampire into this school!" she spluttered.

"He's a friend of mine!" Beauchamp retorted. Snape stared at her.

"He's a vampire! You don't befriend vampires, you kill them!"

"Excuse me, boy?" Augustine spoke up, politely, "I'm standing right here!"

"They're a menace to society!" Snape almost roared. McGonagall stared at Snape, clearly a little horrified by his words.

"Well, it is a little unorthodox, I'll admit," she reasoned. Augustine squared up to them both.

"How dare you! I've been living in the country for over four hundred years! I've paid my taxes, even when I became one of the undead! Ungrateful whippersnappers! You should show some respect to your elders!" he stormed, clearly offended.

"Please, Augustine, they didn't mean it! They're just a little shocked, like we all were," Hermione pleaded. Snape rolled his eyes.

"You can always rely on Miss Granger," he muttered, despite the reproachful glare he received from McGonagall. Augustine turned a cold glare on Snape.

"Well, this young lady has manners, which is more than I can say for you two!" he continued to rage.

"Augustine, it's okay," Beauchamp soothed. Augustine was not comforted by her words.

"Menace to society," he grumbled, still staring at Snape. "If anyone's a menace to society, it's..."

"Dougherty! That's enough!" Beauchamp barked, and Augustine instantly fell silent.

There was a sudden clatter, and Ron looked up bashfully as an array of quills fell off his desk onto the floor. Augustine appeared transfixed by them, and began pointing at them, mumbling under his breath. Harry noticed, with some amusement, that he was mumbling the words "one, two, three." He was counting them!

"Erm, Mr. Dougherty," Snape's voice had become oddly civil. "What are you doing?"

"Counting," Augustine replied, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. After a few seconds, he stopped, clearly satisfied as to the number of quills on the floor. A few members of the class began to giggle, which broke up the tension a little.

Augustine cast a concerned look at Beauchamp, and turned to Snape.

"Do you have any leeches?" he asked. Snape looked at him.

"Yes... My God, woman!" he suddenly bellowed. "You've been bitten! Why didn't you say you'd been bitten?"

"It's alright, Severus," she replied, "he didn't care much for the Beauchamp vintage."

Augustine laughed.

"It's hardly a surprise!" he said, which caused both McGonagall and Snape to stare at him suspiciously.

"Why is that?" McGonagall asked.

"Well," he replied, "old Percy here died a few years back. Not for long, though, drowned by..."

Beauchamp coughed loudly. Augustine glanced at her.

"Drowned," he reiterated.

"I was only gone a minute or so!" she whined. Augustine raised his eyebrows at her.

"Long enough to carry the stench of death with you, which is, ironically, one thing a vampire cannot stand. Also, it's one thing that allows you to touch the hand of a ghost. You're linked to their existence by your death."

Beauchamp rolled her eyes.

"Which you never fail to remind me of," she retorted. Augustine's face broke into a smile.

"Well, it's funny. Especially when you're fluent in Latin on top of it all. You even speak the language of the dead," he laughed. She swatted his arm with her good hand.

"I rather think you ought to be taken to see Madam Pomfrey," McGonagall remonstrated, looking at the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher with a mixture of worry and admiration. "You've clearly broken your arm, and that bite should at least be cleaned out..."

"I'll fetch those leeches," Snape replied, and swept out of the classroom instantly, muttering under his breath about infection times and Anchusa officinalis. McGonagall and Augustine stared at each other for a moment.

"Would you like a hand?" Augustine asked. McGonagall nodded in reply, and they both helped Beauchamp to her feet.

"Okay class, before I go to get patched back up," Beauchamp announced, "I'd like you to write me an essay on what you have learned about vampires today, to be handed in by this lesson next week. Class dismissed."

The entire class watched in stunned silence as Beauchamp was escorted up to the hospital wing. Ron shook his head.

"I dunno," he sighed, "she tackled a vampire single-handedly, breaks her arm, gets bitten, and still manages to set us homework!"

Chapter Fourteen: The Girl in the Memory

"Do you think we can go and see her?" Hermione asked at dinner, on noticing that Beauchamp was not present at the staff table. "I mean, she did fling herself on that vampire to try and stop him attacking me."

Ginny stared at Hermione, Ron and Harry with shining eyes.

"Wow, an actual vampire attack! I wish I'd been there!"

The entire Gryffindor year six Defence class looked askance at her.

"No, you don't," they replied simultaneously.

"It was well scary," Dean retorted.

"Yeah, and it looks like the vampires are definitely siding with Voldemort," Harry added, pushing his roast potatoes around his plate and ignoring the hisses around him. "If Augustine's words were true."

Ron snorted.

"Like that's a surprise," he replied, darkly. Hermione glared at him.

"What about Augustine?" she retorted. Ron shrugged.

"Well, he's got to be an exception. Vampires are evil; they suck blood and prey on people. If he's drinking pigs blood, then he's being remarkably well restrained," he explained. Hermione simply leant back a little in her seat and continued to eat, clearly disapproving of Ron's reply.

"Well, they are!" Ron protested.

"I'm not disagreeing with you, as far as the ones who have sided with Voldemort go," Hermione replied, "but they can't all be evil and ostracised from society- Honeydukes has blood-flavoured confectionary, for starters."

Ron seemed to accept Hermione's logic.

"I suppose," he conceded, "but they just give me the creeps!"

Hermione looked at him, then back at her food.

"Anyway," she explained, "I just happen to think Augustine is nice."

Ron made a face.

"Eurgh! Hermione, that makes you a necrophiliac, you know that, right?"

"I don't like him like that! Honestly, Ron, what do you take me for?"

Harry saw Ron open his mouth to reply, but suddenly seemed to think better of the idea, and promptly shut it again. He sighed, and carried on eating his roast potatoes, trying not to wonder when Ron and Hermione would ever stop bickering. It didn't take long, for Hedwig soon dropped a letter in his lap, before swiftly flying off. The rest of the school momentarily peered excitedly over to where Harry was sitting, for an owl to drop off a letter outside of breakfast was unusual, to say the least. Harry pushed aside his plate and opened the envelope.

Dear Harry,

I hope this letter find you well. As it happens, I was about to write to you anyway. If it wasn't for Dumbledore telling me about you, I'd be concerned at how little you correspond with me, even if Sirius did only appoint me as your trustee.

Anyway, I don't recall Sirius ever mentioning a Persephone Beauchamp to me when we were at school, nor when we were reunited. However, I am not certain he has told me absolutely everything pertaining to his time on the run, so I can't rule out anything, I'm afraid. Dumbledore has mentioned the professor you have asked about to me, and he seems very sure of her intentions- I am sure you have nothing to worry about.

Things here are fine, if a little bit hectic, but 'Neil' doesn't really seem to be doing all he is capable of. I'm sure given time, he'll be able to catch up with us and sort things out.

Take care of yourself, and I'll see you at Christmas. If you want to ask me anything else, or just want someone to write to, I'm here, and don't hesitate to contact me (though you may want to be wary of what you say in a letter- can't be too careful, and all that).

Remus

It took Harry a few moments to figure put exactly what Lupin had written to him. The part about Professor Beauchamp made sense, all right, but who was 'Neil'? Then it clicked- Corneilius Fudge, of course! Lupin had just told him about his work in the Order! Harry felt his heart swell a little with pride- Lupin's candid admission meant more to him than his offers of a friendly ear (or eye, if you consider the technicalities of a correspondence via letter). He felt that at least someone trusted him not to crumble under the weight of that blasted prophesy.

He put the letter into his pocket, just as Hermione got up out of her seat in order to pick up a bread roll from the other side of the table. Just within earshot, Harry was able to make out the voices of Draco and Pansy walking towards the Slytherin table.

"...Just like I said, what kind of teacher brings a vampire to class!"

"She's a lunatic! She could have got us all killed!"

Harry couldn't help it; he jumped to his feet.

"Actually, she pretty much stopped us getting killed, or were you too busy hiding under your desk to notice?" he replied, smoothly. Draco sneered at him.

"Typical of you, Potter," he drawled, "Sticking up for the weirdoes. Like knows like, I see."

Pansy sniggered. Harry just looked at them disdainfully,

" Maybe next time she won't bother when one of Voldemort's minions," Harry suppressed a giggle at the way both Draco and Pansy flinched at the name- "smashes into our school. I think that would be a pity, whether you feel the same, I couldn't possibly comment."

Draco went paler than Harry thought one person could possibly go. He stared at Harry, and then walked away, Pansy following, after she gave Harry one last furious glare.

"Do you know something?" Ginny commented, having watched the whole encounter. "I think you offended them."

Harry laughed.

"First time for everything," he replied, and looked up in the direction of the Slytherin table. Draco had yet to get very far past the Gryffindor table and had walked straight into Hermione, who spun round and glared at him. Draco's response staggered Harry. He simply looked back at her, and turned away quickly. Pansy seemed equally baffled by Draco's behaviour, and instead chose to scowl at Hermione with twice her usual severity to make up for it before she also walked back over to the Slytherin table.

"What was that all about?" Harry wondered out loud. Ginny, who was sat nearest to him, said nothing. Ron put down his fork and shrugged.

"No idea. Malfoy's a nutter... Are you alright, Hermione?" he called across to Hermione, who had sat down with an expression of consternation on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, absently buttering her bread roll.

Neville walked along the hall, holding a large bunch of flowers, and stood next to Harry.

"Hi," he said, "are you coming to see Beauchamp?"

Ron jerked his head towards the flowers.

"Didn't know you cared so much, Neville," he joked. Neville looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

"They're not for you, you prat," he replied. "They're for Beauchamp. Professor Sprout helped me pick them. I figured you'd all like to sign the card."

He handed Harry a small 'get well' card and a quill. It took Harry quite a long time to sign it, as every time he opened it up, a small fairy-like creature span round his head, singing a ditty:

'Sorry you're now ill in bed,

Because a vampire took a bite,

But we're glad you chopped off his head,

For he gave us quite a fright.

So if you miss some lessons,

We won't make too much fuss,

For we just hope you get well soon

And please don't die on us!'

What it lacked in poetic aptitude it made up for in blithe admiration, Harry thought.

"Nice touch," he said to Neville, who beamed. He passed the card to Ron, and after five minutes of hearing the pixie continually repeat the get-well song, decided the little ditty did lack longevity value. Ron passed the card and quill to Hermione, who picked up the quill and signed the back of the card. She passed it to Ginny, who did the same. Harry glanced at Ron, and could tell he felt a little stupid as well, especially when they noticed that the rest of the sixth year Gryffindors in that fateful lesson had followed Hermione's example.

They reached the hospital wing just as Augustine Dougherty was leaving it.

"Ah, hello," he said warmly, "Have you come to see Percy?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, after a short burst of thinking reminded him that 'Percy' was Augustine's chosen nickname for their Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"Is she asleep?" Neville whispered. Augustine laughed.

"Percy? You must be joking. She is currently complaining to your delightful Madam Pomfrey at being confined to bed for tonight. Don't you worry," he continued, "she's a tough woman. Not many people come back from death, you know."

The group of Gryffindors looked at him, and he suddenly began to laugh.

"Well, few come back relatively unaffected," he corrected himself, pointing to his pronounced canines.

"You're a vampire?" Ginny exclaimed. Augustine shrank back a little from her stare.

"Yes, but I'm not about to suck your..."

"Cool!" Ginny replied, before Augustine was able to complete his sentence. He coughed in embarrassment as Ginny began scrutinising him as though he were a particularly interesting painting.

Harry saw Nearly Headless Nick float along the corridor.

"Hello there, Harry," he greeted, doffing his ghostly plumed hat.

"Good evening, Sir Nick," he replied. This caught Augustine's attention, and he turned sharply towards the Gryffindor ghost.

"Well, I'll be eternally damned! Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington!" he exclaimed, in recognition.

"Augustine Dougherty?" Nick began to laugh, before floating closer to the Vampire.

"How the Devil are you, old man?" he asked. Augustine looked down at his own body.

"Dead," he replied. "Yourself?"

"Much the same," Nick replied, and they both burst into raucous laughter. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny exchanged glances, and left the two living-impaired men to their reminiscing as they opened the door to the hospital wing.

"Oh, gents, ladies?" Augustine called after them.

"Yes, Augustine?" Hermione asked.

"Could you tell Percy that Faith suggests using Rowan bark in conjunction with the Jobberknoll feathers? She'll know what I mean."

They nodded their consent, though not without exchanging curious glances with each other, and entered the hospital wing.

Beauchamp looked pleased to see them, as she gave them a cheery wave with her good hand. She looked perfectly healthy, or as healthy as the normally pallid Beauchamp ever could, and was sitting up in her bed.

"Hello there!" she beamed. "Your damnable Healer insists on keeping me locked up in here- I keep telling her I'm fine." Here, she winked at Madam Pomfrey, who looked at her with mock irritation and wagged her finger.

"Well, if you will go blindly tackling vampires and getting yourself bitten, you have to expect to be kept in overnight under observation," she remonstrated.

Beauchamp rolled her eyes with a smile, then noticed the flowers.

"Are those for me?" she enquired, sweetly. Neville nodded, and handed her the bouquet. She accepted them appreciatively and sniffed them, and expression of confusion suddenly etching her face.

"Hmm... I recognise that smell from somewhere... What's in it?" she asked, eventually.

Neville reeled off the list like a professional horticulturalist.

"Some roses, snowdrops, asphodel..."

"Ahh, the food of the dead. That'll be it," she replied, in an oddly wistful voice. Ron handed her the card signed by the Gryffindors, at which she howled with laughter once she opened it.

"Aww, that's so sweet! Thank you," she giggled, as the fairy-like creature finished its song. She placed it carefully on the small table next to her bed, on which rested a clear goblet of reddish coloured liquid, a few bunches of flowers and some other cards. Harry was surprised to see one that appeared to be signed by some of the sixth year Slytherins in the Defence Against the Dark Arts class that Beauchamp was attacked in. There was another signed by the staff; Harry recognised McGonagall's neat script, Snape's spindly hand and Dumbledore's wild looped writing. There was another card containing a number of signatures, but Harry couldn't read any of them, and assumed it must have come from Augustine.

"How's your arm?" Harry asked. Beauchamp smiled and waved her left arm in response.

"Good as new," she replied, "Madame Pomfrey patched it up in seconds. I must say, she's very good!"

She looked at the Gryffindors surrounding her thoughtfully.

"I trust you are all okay after the event?" she asked. They nodded. Ginny grumbled.

"Wish I'd got to see it, Professor."

Beauchamp laughed again.

"Oh Ginny, you are a card!" she replied, and reached for the goblet of reddish liquid and took a sip, grimacing slightly. Ron eyed it with suspicion.

"Erm, Professor, you aren't drinking blood are you?" he asked. Beauchamp looked confused for a moment, then glanced down at the glass goblet and shook her head.

"Oh, no- this is a brew Severus brought up for me. It contains the taproot of Anchusa officinalis, that's what gives it its red colour."

"Of course, Anchusa officinalis has blood cleansing properties!" Neville exclaimed. Beauchamp pointed and clicked her finger at him.

"Precisely, Neville. It's supposed to help remove any communicable diseases that vampire might have transmitted to me."

Ron and Harry exchanged sceptical glances.

"I don't think I'd drink anything Snape brought up to me," Ron mumbled. Unfortunately, Beauchamp heard him.

"Ron! Have some faith!" she exclaimed. "What in Merlin's name would you think he'd do?"

Ron shrugged, then upon seeing Beauchamp was not angry, replied.

"I just don't trust him."

"Yeah, he's horrible to us!" Neville moaned. Beauchamp gave a little half-smile, then sipped her brew.

"Well, you realise in the big, bad world, you're likely to meet many horrible people. Best you get used to it," she replied, breezily. Neville sighed.

"We've got our whole lives to know fear and loathing- why do we have to start now?"

Harry inwardly flinched at Neville's words, as he could tell from the tone of his voice that the words were more regretful of the past than fearful of the future. He knew both fear and loathing already- fear at the mercy of Snape's Potions lessons, loathing at the lack of mercy of the Lestranges.

"Because we're at war," a small voice suddenly piped up. It was Hermione. Beauchamp flashed them all a sympathetic smile.

"I know," she sighed, "I knew as soon as Albus first came out and said it last year."

"It's a pity the Ministry didn't," Harry spat. Beauchamp looked at him with clear green eyes.

"Yes, it is," she replied, and Harry thought he could detect a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

At that point, Madam Pomfrey started to stand around the group of students, telling them that Professor Beauchamp needed her rest.

"Whether she seems to think so or not!" she added, looking at Beauchamp's petulant expression.

"We'll come and see you tomorrow," Ginny promised. Beauchamp smiled.

"Don't you worry, Ginny, I'll be taking my lessons again tomorrow, I'm sure."

"Humph- only if you rest up today!" Madam Pomfrey remonstrated. Beauchamp looked suitably chastised by her words.

"Okay, okay, I'm resting!" she conceded, lying down on the bed and pulling the covers up to her chest.

The group said their goodbyes and trooped out of the hospital wing into the corridor, just as Dumbledore entered. Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville all greeted him with courtesy as they left, and he benignly responded.

"Ah, young Harry," he smiled, "I was hoping to find you here."

Harry was about to wonder what trouble he had managed to get himself into this time, when he saw Dumbledore absently looking at the cards Beauchamp had received.

"Well, your class seem to hold you in high regard after the incident, Persephone," he chuckled, holding the two cards from her year six class. Beauchamp smiled grimly, pulling herself up into a semi-sitting position.

"I'm glad they're alive to do so, Albus," she replied, "Any idea how, or why, he got in?"

"A couple, both of which I think you and Mr. Dougherty already concluded," he said, before turning to Harry.

"I trust you get on well with Professor Beauchamp, Harry?" he asked. Harry felt a little embarrassed. Beauchamp stared at him, then at Dumbledore.

"Oh, Albus, that's hardly fair! I'm lying right here!" she laughed. Dumbledore smiled serenely.

"Now, Harry, be honest. I'm sure Professor Beauchamp can take constructive criticism."

"Yeah, I like her, she's a good teacher," Harry replied, truthfully. Dumbledore beamed.

"Ah, excellent. Perhaps you will do better at mastering Occlumency with Professor Beauchamp as a teacher, rather than Professor Snape," he replied, simply. Harry was stunned.

"I thought you said earlier this year that you weren't going to make me to learn Occlumency?" he asked. Dumbledore smiled.

"All I said was I would not make you learn Occlumency with Professor Snape as your teacher. Professor Beauchamp is also greatly skilled in both Occlumency and Legilmency, I think you should do fine with her."

Beauchamp conjured herself a quill and parchment.

"Well, Harry," she said warmly, "when are you free in the week?"

Harry listed all the evenings he knew he didn't have Quidditch practice or too much homework. The list amounted to one day.

"So, Monday evening it is," she announced. "Well, if you just pop along to my office at eight o'clock, we'll make a start next week. Oh, and tell your classmates that you've got training for Auror entry exams with me if they ask. I'm not about to open up these lessons to everyone- I'd have no time to sleep!"

Harry nodded, and made a hasty exit from the hospital ward. He couldn't believe he had to learn Occlumency again, especially after last year's fiasco. He could hear Hermione lecturing him already: "You must make sure you actually practice the techniques this time!"

Still, perhaps Beauchamp might give him some more useful guidelines than Snape's "clear your mind," and, "on the count of three."

Before he left the hospital wing, however, Harry couldn't help but notice that Beauchamp had a Sneak-o-scope sat next to her glass of taproot brew.

So, on the next Monday, Harry found himself walking towards Professor Beauchamp's office, on the pretence that he was doing some work with her to push his marks up in order to do well in the Auror entry exams once he left Hogwarts.

Hermione had reacted exactly as he imagined she would, warning him to take the practice seriously. Ron, on the other hand, merely looked curious and pointed out that Dumbledore must be either very trusting of Beauchamp, or very desperate to have someone other than himself teach Harry how to defend his mind from Voldemort. Hermione still kept up her lecturing, no matter how interested she was in Ron's hypothesis, every night in the Gryffindor common room.

That was the other very odd thing about the last week. Hermione in the common room. She was doing her homework, yes, but she hadn't once entered the library. Ginny had even been checking out the books she wanted for her, and staving off Madam Pince, who seemed very concerned that Hermione hadn't been in to borrow a book for a whole week. Both Harry and Ron had collectively and separately tried to find out from Hermione what was going on, but to no avail. They tried to interrogate Ginny too, who also wouldn't crack, and instead snapped at them to leave Hermione alone, and that she'd tell them if she wanted to.

Harry stood in front of the heavy oak door of Professor Beauchamp's office, which was slightly ajar. He rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"Come in!" Professor Beauchamp bellowed from inside. Harry did as he was told, and was amazed by the room. The back wall was literally covered with blades and swords of many shapes and sizes, each with peculiarly ornate handles. There were many bookcases surrounding the windows, and Harry strained to read the titles, soon realising that many of the books were not written in English. Glancing down at the stone floor, Harry saw that a large squishy blue mat was laid down across the middle of the room, with some rune stones littering one corner of the mat. The fireplace was not lit; instead it was surrounded by a few strange wooden discs, each containing a thin stick of what looked like tobacco. One of the sticks was lit, but it didn't smell like tobacco; it smelled of incense, but not the sickly stench that emanated from Trewlaney's classroom. This was more musky and woody in scent. The front wall, bizarrely, was covered with a huge Oriental tapestry, depicting a river scene and a house on bamboo stilts, with symbols around the border. Harry tried to read what they said, but he couldn't make head nor tail of them.

"It's in Cantonese," Beauchamp said, suddenly, raising her head. "'Crows Are Universally Black'. It basically means that bad people are bad no matter where you find them because human nature never changes. Pretty depressing, huh?"

It was at this point that Harry noticed Professor Beauchamp was leant curiously on her heavy oak desk, trying to reach something at an awkward angle. She put one knee up onto the edge of the desk in order to reach further forward.

"Erm, Professor, what are you doing?" Harry asked, watching his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher jam what looked like a screwdriver into an old Wizarding Wireless box, which Harry recognised as once having sat in Professor McGonagall's office, whilst muttering some odd sounding incantations.

"Trying to jerry-rig this thing into picking up some Muggle radio stations," she replied, with a grunt, as something snapped in the Wireless and she smiled.

"Ah, that might work... Yes, Harry, since being exposed to it, I've been rather fond of Muggle music... except the Bangles," she added, with a shudder. Harry looked confused.

"The who?"

"No, the Bangles... sorry, bad joke. You were probably a little too young for them. A friend of mine at Beaubaxtons, Muggle-born witch, was a huge fan, and dragged me to one of their shows," at this point, Professor Beauchamp began to hum, "'...Just another manic Monday... Wish it was Sunday... 'Coz that's my fun day...' I mean, it's hardly Chopin, know what I'm saying?"

Harry didn't really know what to say in response, so he merely smiled and hoped for the best. Beauchamp suddenly stared at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You probably want to get started," she said, lifting a large bowl-like object Harry recognised as a pensieve onto her desk. She tapped her wand against her temple, and began to draw out numerous thick, silvery coils, adding them to the swirling mass inside the pensieve.

"It doesn't look like Dumbledore's," Harry commented, softly. Beauchamp looked up at him.

"That's because it isn't. I have my own," she explained, still adding thick silver strands until she seemed satisfied she had all the memories she required stored up in her black and gold coloured pensieve.

"You have a lot you want to hide from me," Harry probed. Beauchamp looked right at him, and smiled darkly.

"Yes I do. And believe me, if I catch you looking in this baby, I'll do a lot more than throw some dead insects at you," she warned. Harry flushed, realising that she had read from him the memory of looking into the memories Snape stored in Dumbledore's pensieve. He absently wondered if she got to see what those memories were, when Beauchamp instructed him to sit opposite her on the large blue mat laid out on the stone floor.

"So," she said, crossing her legs and sitting so she resembled a severely starved Buddha. "What do you know about Occlumency?"

"It's not mind-reading," Harry replied. Beauchamp grinned.

"Ah yes- the first thing anyone teaches you. That's true. Anything else? How did Professor Snape teach you to go about it?"

"He didn't," Harry spat, suddenly angered. "He just said that it required similar skills as throwing off the Imperius curse, and that I had to empty my mind of emotion and keep focused."

Beauchamp shrugged.

"I'm afraid that's all there is to tell you," she replied, lighting a nearby incense stick. "It's mental magic- controlling your thoughts and emotions... Why do you think I spend time meditating each day?"

Harry made a mental note to mention this to Ginny, if only so she might stop giggling at the end of every Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson she has.

"So, it really works?" he asked. Beauchamp nodded.

"It depends on what helps you, really. Eastern philosophies of meditation work for me, but somehow I can't imagine Professor Snape sitting in his office chanting mantras and practising breathing exercises," she added. Harry nodded in understanding, as Professor Beauchamp adjusted her robes.

"So, let's make a start," she said, holding out her right hand. Harry suddenly came to the realisation that Beauchamp only used a wand in Hogwarts for show. The way she was trained to cast spells was without one.

"Ready?" she asked, and Harry nodded.

"Okay, let's go, on the count of three- one, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

Harry's head suddenly felt very odd, as though something was worming its way through him. It was altogether different to the surge of pressure he had felt when undergoing these lessons with Snape. The effect was much the same though, as he felt himself being yanked through many different memories... his Astronomy exam that year, where McGonagall ended up in St. Mungo's with multiple Stunners to the chest... Dudley pushing his head down the toilet in Privet Drive when he was seven... Hermione admitting she had told McGonagall about him receiving a mystery Firebolt in his third year... Sirius being hit with a jet of light by Bellatrix and falling through the veil...

"Come on, Harry," he heard Beauchamp encouraging him, "concentrate!"

Harry did as he was told, and found he was able to push the worming mass pulsing through his brain away from his thoughts a little. He tried to focus the push, but failed, and found himself seeing flashes of unrecognisable memories... a gangly dark-haired girl taking a Bludger to the head and falling off a broom, breaking her wrist with a sickening snap, with a tall blonde boy looking horror-stricken... a white haired man with a goatee, whom Harry recognised as Karkaroff, shouting at the same gangly girl, who was trying not to smirk... the same girl once again in a dormitory room, backing cautiously away from a snarling odd-looking wolf, yet was wearing very little clothing...

He felt the pulsing mass thrust inside his brain again, and he thought he might drown in the swell of his own memories, until the pressure suddenly lifted, and he was faced with a smirking Professor Beauchamp, placing her left hand over a painful welt on her wrist.

"Stinging hex?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Coward," Beauchamp laughed. "That's the curse everyone uses when they reach their last resort in Occlumency."

"Erm, Professor?" Harry found himself asking, before he could stop. "That last memory, the wolf..."

"Now, now, Harry," Beauchamp wagged her finger sardonically at him. "Werewolf. Do you not remember your intermediate Dark Creatures? For Merlin's sake, you were taught by one, you ought to be able to recognise the signs."

Momentarily stunned by this revelation that Beauchamp knew about Lupin, Harry replied a little later than one normally would.

"Why were you in a dormitory room with one?" he managed to ask, eventually. Beauchamp smiled.

"Nosey git," she replied. "He was my boyfriend at the time; Ioan Desislav. He got bitten three weeks before, didn't realise he was a werewolf. Well, until that night... I'll leave it to your imagination as to what we had been up to. Let's just say if that full moon had come about twenty minutes earlier... can you say, ouch!"

Harry blanched a little at this excess of information.

"What happened between you?" he asked. Beauchamp shrugged.

"Dumped him."

"Why, because he became a werewolf?" Harry asked, already imagining how Hermione would react to such an admission. Beauchamp shook her head darkly.

"No, because of how he became a werewolf," she replied. Harry must have looked palpably confused, for Beauchamp rolled her eyes at him.

"Violeta Nadejda," she explained, simply. "Girl in the year above. Turned out she was the one that gave him the bite, the little tart. He broke my heart- I cried for hours," she added. Harry couldn't help but smile sympathetically.

"Right- shall we go again?" she asked. Harry nodded, straightening himself up. Beauchamp raised her right hand again.

"On the count of three- one, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

Harry felt the familiar pulsing through his brain again, and concentrated hard on pushing it away. He was having little luck, until he suddenly felt himself push in a different direction, and his thoughts almost collapsed into a dark recess somewhere, and he felt himself relax. He saw a memory float up into his consciousness, but no pressure trying to stop him from visualising it.

The scene was of a tiny, slightly chubby little girl, probably about four years old, with thick, messy black hair tied up in pigtails. She was in a garden of some description, with a huge beech tree in the corner next to a pretty cottage and roses climbing up the trellis of the walls. The grass was thick and lush with dew, and the girl was sitting under the beech tree reading a book with a look of intense concentration on her face.

A voice sighed, and a figure shook his head.

"What are you doing sitting there? You'll get a wet bottom!" the voice teased. The girl didn't look up, and Harry was unable to glean what the figure looked like. The voice was male though, and somehow familiar to Harry, though he couldn't ascertain where he had ever heard it.

"I'm okay," the girl replied, clearly more interested in her book than the man, who conjured a blanket that he then laid on the grass, and picked the girl up with strong hands, placing her on the blanket.

"How's the Latin going?" he asked, at which the girl shrugged.

"Why do I have to learn this? It's a dead language," she complained. Fingers stroked the back of her head.

"Because there are numerous interesting books and scriptures written solely in Latin, plus it'll be useful for spells when you're older," came the soft reply. The girl smiled.

"Fine, fine... It's hard, but I think it's okay."

The man got up, the warm weight he gave to the girl with his closeness suddenly disappearing.

"What would you like for lunch?" he asked. "It's sandwiches, I'm afraid."

"Sandwiches are good!" the girl piped up, though still immersed in her book. "I like ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese!"

"Ergh! That sounds disgusting!" the man joked, "but if ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese is what you want, then ham, horseradish and mustard with cheese is what you shall have, my dear."

Damp lips pressed against the parting of her hair in a kiss, and a hand stroked her own, where a glimpse of a red skull tattoo was visible on the left arm of said hand, before quietening footsteps on squelching grass indicated the figure was moving away...

Harry somehow pulled himself out of the memory that did not belong to him and stared at Beauchamp.

"What was that all about?" he asked. Beauchamp frowned at him.

"What was what all about?" she asked in return.

"That memory? The one of the little girl, I reckon that must have been you, and the man..." Harry trailed off, seeing Beauchamp's look of bewilderment was genuine.

"Harry, I didn't feel you access any memory of mine. I didn't see a thing," she managed to say after a few moments of thought. Judging by her expression of horror, Harry thought it best not to mention the glimpse of the Dark Mark he had also seen on the mysterious man in the memory, nor the nonchalance of the girl.

"Maybe... I was four, you say?" Beauchamp asked, distantly. Harry nodded.

"Something like that. I'm sure it was you; it looked like you," he replied.

Beauchamp stood up quickly.

"I think we ought to leave it for today, Harry," she announced, quickly. "I have some... business to attend to."

She grabbed a small vial containing what looked like bark scrapings, and ushered him out of her office, clearly concerned by what had occurred between them. She shut the door, and walked briskly in the direction of the dungeons. Harry walked along the corridor, confused by what he had seen, and why he had seen it without any resistance at all. Clearly from Beauchamp's behaviour, she was just as confused, if not more so, than Harry. If she couldn't remember parts of her past, why was he able to see them? 


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Fifteen: Tales of Durmstrang

"Well, it sounds like it was to do with her memory loss," Hermione considered, after Harry related his first Occlumency lesson with Beauchamp to her and Ron in the deserted common room late that night.

"Sounds mad," Ron added, "You saw a whole scene from her memory, and she didn't even notice? You must be getting good!"

Hermione frowned.

"I don't think that's it," she mused. "Not to judge your efforts, Harry," she hastily added, "but it sounds like you possibly tapped into a memory she can no longer remember- Viktor said she has no memory of anything before she turned six years old."

"The bark shavings in that vial she took with her might have been Rowan," Harry thought aloud. "Augustine did say they would work with the Jobberknoll feathers."

"Perhaps she's working on that restorative potion Ginny mentioned?" Ron suggested.

"Perhaps," Hermione agreed.

"Blimey," Ron sighed, "so she knew a Death Eater, but doesn't remember... You don't suppose she's one too, do you?"

"Honestly, Ron, do you think Dumbledore would hire a Death Eater?" Hermione chastised. Ron looked straight at her.

"Two words- Severus Snape," he retorted. Hermione flushed.

"Oh yes, of course... but Dumbledore knows he's on our side," she replied, at which Ron snorted, but said nothing.

"Anyway." Harry fought to bring the conversation away from Snape and towards the issue at hand. "The point is, she was really unnerved by it."

"Wouldn't you be?" Ron replied, and Harry was forced to concede to him.

"We can come to one conclusion," Hermione commented.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Having memories of someone with a Dark Mark that you don't remember can't be good," she replied. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Well, 'duh'!" he responded, causing Hermione to throw one of the nearby cushions at his head, which bounced off and fell to the floor.

"Fine, why don't you go and look up memory loss in the library, then?" Ron half asked, half ordered. Hermione turned an odd shade of pink.

"I'm going with Ginny tomorrow," she replied, quietly. Harry narrowed his eyes a little at her.

"Why won't you go by yourself anymore, anyway?" he asked. Hermione's facial expression made clear the subject was off limits.

"I've told you all I'm going to tell you," she replied, curtly. Harry shrugged.

"It's all a bit odd, isn't it, Ron?" he teased. Ron grinned.

"She probably folded over a page as a book mark and feels too guilty to go alone into the library again," he replied. Hermione scowled, and stood up, grabbing her bag.

"Oh, don't sulk, you know we're only teasing!" Ron complained. Hermione sat back down.

"Just drop it, okay?" she warned. Ron held his palms aloft in surrender.

"Okay, okay, consider it dropped," he soothed.

"What are you doing over Christmas?" Harry asked, in an attempt to change the subject. Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. I expect I'll be seeing Mum and Dad on Christmas Day, but they haven't told me of any other specific plans," she replied.

"Come to ours!" Ron practically commanded. "It'll be weird without you two, anyway."

Harry looked at the floor.

"I don't know if I'll be able to- I might have to stay with the Dursleys," he replied, simply. Ron looked up at him.

"Don't be daft," he said, shrugging aside the notion. "It's for a fortnight. I reckon Dumbledore would want you to stay either here, or with us. That's what he did last year, remember?"

Harry nodded, hoping Ron was right.

"True," he replied, trying not to think about spending Christmas with Sirius last year. This coming Christmas was going to be hard, knowing that he wouldn't be around, not even to write to. Christmas was all about family, and the last link to his was gone forever.

"...Anyway, Harry," Ron continued, and Harry fought to work out what Ron might have been talking to him about before he zoned out. "We'll smuggle you out from the Dursleys' if push comes to shove. What do you think, Hermione? Should I ask my mum?"

"I don't know," the girl in question replied slowly, chewing on her lip. "Having me to stay over is one thing, but my parents too? Won't it be a bother?"

"My dad would be well happy, so as long as they don't mind explaining plugs and batteries to him, it'll be fine, I'd wager," Ron cajoled, until Hermione relented, and gave Ron permission to ask his parents if her parents could visit them during Christmas too. Harry sighed. He liked the Grangers, but somehow the though of Ron and Hermione's families being around him at Christmas served only to heighten Harry's sense of loss, though he hid his feelings well.

"Here," Ron suddenly asked into the silence, "what's going on with this DA reunion?"

"It's going to have to be during the Hogsmeade weekend next term," Hermione replied. "Terry and Anthony can't make it this term, Cho said she was busy, but whether that was an excuse or not..." she trailed off. Harry looked at her.

"It's okay. I know she hates me," he replied, in a voice far cheerier than he felt. Hermione patted him on the arm.

"She doesn't hate you, she's just a little hurt, that's all," she soothed. Ron looked askance at him.

"You don't fancy her again, do you?" he asked, as though dreading the answer. Harry shook his head and waved his hand as though pushing the idea away.

"No," he replied truthfully, "I just don't want her to hate me."

"And she doesn't!" Hermione enunciated. Harry couldn't help it, and smiled at her.

"What would I do without you, huh?"

"All sorts of silly things," she replied blithely. Ron glanced at them both.

"Have you told Susan, Zack and Hannah?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"I'll let them know tomorrow in Charms. Shall we tell them to keep the next Hogsmeade weekend free?"

Hermione nodded.

"That's a good idea, and I've got Arithmancy with Terry and Padma tomorrow. I'll let them know," she replied, yawning as she did so. She stretched before getting to her feet.

"Right," she announced, "I'm off to bed. See you all at breakfast!"

"Night, Hermione," Ron and Harry replied. Hermione turned around to face Harry.

"Harry, make sure you practise what Professor Beauchamp told you to- clear your mind and all."

Harry gave her a mock salute.

"Yes, Sergeant Granger," he replied. She rolled her eyes, and set off up the stone steps to the girls' dormitory. Ron also got up.

"I think she's got a good point, I'm knackered," he added, with a yawn. Harry also got up and they headed for the boys' dormitory.

"Don't worry about Beauchamp," Ron offered by way of comfort, "she's nowhere near as nuts as Snape; you'll probably learn loads from her!"

Harry sighed inwardly. He was more concerned that he may have got through his second teacher in Occlumency before he'd even had his second lesson.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how much Harry valued his evenings, Beauchamp was not phased by the events of that Occlumency lesson. At least, she wasn't phased enough to refuse to give Harry anymore. So, Monday evenings spent sitting cross-legged on a blue mat in Beauchamp's office, inhaling incense and learning to block thoughts became routine. What also became routine was Beauchamp having a different potion brewing in a cauldron on her desk every time he had a lesson, complete with parchments littering the same desk containing her spidery scrawl, many of which had large, angry ink spotted crossings out etched into them with such ferocity, they had almost torn through the parchment.

The last Monday before the end of term, however, he was greeted to an entirely different sight. He had knocked on her office door as before, but got no response. However, the door was ajar, so Harry thought it prudent to enter, in case she hadn't heard him.

What he saw when he entered the room stunned him. Professor Beauchamp was sat at her desk and, to all intents and purposes, appeared to be conversing with a mug. More specifically, she appeared to be conversing with her bright yellow ceramic mug that bore the legend 'Professors do it whilst demonstrating to a class of twenty' and most likely ensured that it was never borrowed by any of the other teachers in the school. Its contents were glowing a strange shade of green, and Harry hoped she wasn't planning to drink them.

"...It's exactly like I told you, I still can't access them... The Rowan bark didn't help... It's important because if I can't access them, how can I tell if anyone else is? How can I keep our secrets?... Yeah, but... Okay, I'm going to send you a vial, see what you make of it."

At this point, Beauchamp reached across her desk and scooped up a small eppindorf tube of the potion bubbling in her cauldron, sealed it and dropped it into her mug, where it promptly vanished with a small puff of steam.

"Got it? Good... how is she?... Oh, that is good news... Of course I'll be there at Christmas, tell her I've got her something really nice... Yep, speak to you soon."

She waved her left hand over the mug, and its contents no longer glowed green. Looking up at Harry, she nearly jumped out of her seat.

"Great Merlin, Harry, where did you come from?" she asked, on relaxing a little into her seat.

"The Gryffindor common-room. It's Occlumency time, remember?" he replied, with a mild sarcasm he knew Beauchamp would appreciate. She did, and chuckled a little.

"Of course- I hadn't forgotten, you know. My short-term memory isn't a problem. Now sit down on the mat and act like you're my student!" she quipped.

Harry smiled and did as he was told. He fished in his pocket for his wand, and began to pull that out as well, but Beauchamp raised her hand to stop him.

"No, Harry," she said, smoothly, "I think we're past that stage now. I want you to repel me with just your mind."

"But..." Harry's mind swam with panic. "I'm not ready, I haven't learned..."

Beauchamp put her finger to her lip to silence him.

"You're plenty ready," she replied, briskly. "Besides, if you try and use Occlumency to shut down your thoughts and you're waving a wand in your attacker's face, they're likely to notice something's up. Discretion is the key to this, Harry."

"Professor..."

"Call me Persephone," Beauchamp replied. "Only during these lessons, of course," she added, as an afterthought.

"Persephone," Harry continued, "what exactly did Professor Dumbledore tell you about why I needed to learn Occlumency?"

Beauchamp looked straight at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw her green eyes flash with vexation.

"He told me enough to be getting along with," she replied, though Harry now recognised her response as a mere tactic to evade pertinent questions. He was about to enquire further, but Beauchamp's expression warned him not to try.

"Right, are you ready? Now, just remember to concentrate, and you'll be fine," she soothed. Harry sat up a little straighter, as though the act would help him stave off such an attack from Beauchamp.

"Ready? One, two, three, Dextera; Legilmency!"

The familiar worming, pulsing mass of power slid through his brain and Harry felt powerless to stop it; memories flashed through his head as though they were individual slides on a spinning Zoetrope. He saw a glimpse of Cho sitting opposite him at Madame Puddlefoot's last Valentine's day, then a glimpse of Hermione in her blue dress robes flashing him a smile bereft of buck teeth, her arms around Viktor Krum, soon after that came a flash of Draco, Crabbe and Goyle falling out of a big black cloak as Harry's own Patronus hit them full-force during a year three Quidditch match, which was quickly followed by Harry walking around the Room of Requirement commenting and correcting a large group of students from different houses and year groups, who were all casting their own patronuses, amid varying shouts of 'expecto patronum!'...

With a colossal effort, Harry tried not to think about the memories and forget they were even his. The effort lessened slightly as he felt the pulsing mass back away from those memories, as Harry pushed it to concentrate upon his Charms lesson, where Draco accidentally conjured a tree from beneath the stone floor of Professor Flitwick's classroom. When he saw the image of Hermione picking the flower from the floor below her, and the sudden rumble in the classroom as a tree pushed its way through the floor, his mind leapt in triumph.

Suddenly, he felt his own mind push through the pulsing mass currently concentrating on that Charms memory, and he was once again faced with what appeared to be one of Beauchamp's memories. A tall, gangly, dark-haired girl was standing in an office, which appeared to be a teacher's owing to the awards and academic photographs littering the walls and desks. A painting near to her said something in what sounded like a Slavic language, which Harry didn't understand, but it caused the girl's eyebrows to rise. She was staring at a copy of 'The Daily Prophet' with an expression of half-interest, half-horror. The door swung open and Karkaroff swept into the room, staring with equal horror when he saw what she was reading. She glared back at him, defiantly.

"I should have known," she said, silkily. "It all seemed a bit too much."

Karkaroff's eyes narrowed, and he fixed a smouldering glare upon her, and balled his fists up. The girl was scared, but she didn't show it; she merely folded her arms and looked back at him sullenly.

Before Harry knew it, the girl was struck hard cross the jaw, and her expression registered shock. Karkaroff stood glued to the spot, shaking slightly with anger and fear.

"Get out," he hissed, his breathing ragged, "You didn't see... you don't know..."

The girl sensed his fear, and this returned her sense of power.

"But, Professor Karkaroff," she said, flashing a lop-sided smile at him. "What about my detention?"

"Get... out..."

The girl turned to leave, then twirled on her heel, her blood-red robes swinging with the force.

"Sir, is it still there, or did it vanish with him?" she asked, causing Karkaroff's face to flush red with anger, resulting in his white hair appearing to glow.

"Go!" he bellowed, and the girl did as she was told, slamming the door behind her...

Harry's mind pounded with pain, the thrusting power he had fought slammed into his brain with such ferocity, he thought his brain might explode. A struggle took place, where a few more of his memories flashed past him; Petunia boiling Dudley's old clothes, and dyeing them grey to form his Stonewalls uniform, his Aunt Marge suddenly ballooning up whilst Harry felt a seething anger at her having insulted his mother so...

Then, there was another strong push from his own brain, and he was suddenly reliving another of Beauchamp's memories. It was the same office he had seen previously, though he could only see the scene through a crack in the door, as the gangly girl that Harry now recognised as a teenage Beauchamp was spying though it. Karkaroff was stood behind his desk, his hand resting on the back of his chair, whilst a tall, middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled tightly back into a chignon was shouting at him, pointing her finger at him aggressively, her sapphire robes swishing with her agitated movement.

"Karkaroff, I don't care if she broke apart your desk with an axe and cursed your prized rose bushes, you never, ever lay a finger on my daughter, do you hear me!" she bellowed, towering over the now slightly cowering Karkaroff, his cheeks pink with fury.

"Perhaps you ought to teach your precious daughter not to go meddling in affairs that don't concern her!" he spat back, at which the woman laughed richly, showing up an array of creases around her lips.

"It's hardly a secret, Karkaroff, one of your students was bound to find out sooner or later! I hardly think your choices are in anyway the fault of Persephone," she snapped back. Karkaroff turned almost as pale as his hair for a moment, and the woman folded her arms in triumph. Karkaroff sneered.

"Well, Porphyria, I hardly think you are one to judge me. I know tales of your brother that would make your hair curl..."

Porphyria flicked her hand at the air, her expression derisive.

"Don't try to change the subject, Igor. This has got nothing to do with my brother, and everything to do with you threatening one of your students because you're scared of your past!"

Karkaroff scoffed at this.

"I hardly think Persephone is easily threatened, Mrs. Beauchamp. She's a trouble-making little shrew who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut!" he said, in tones of pure hatred. Porphyria smiled.

"Then I've taught her well," she replied, airily. "If there's one thing I can't stand, Karkaroff, it's a coward," she said, pointedly. "For you never know where you stand with a coward. They are only ever on one side- their own."

Karkaroff glared at her.

"You do realise," he said, slowly, "that I could make things rather difficult for Miss. Beauchamp, if you aren't careful. You might find it hard to get her into another school if she doesn't, for example, receive her O.W.L. results..."

His tone was threatening, and it caused Porphyria to stand back for a moment. Clearly regaining her sense of power, she stood up straight again, and began to inspect a small statue on his mantelpiece.

"You do realise," she mocked, "that I could make things rather difficult for you, Professor Karkaroff, if you aren't careful. You might find it hard to get a job in another school if I let slip to enough parents about that report in a certain British newspaper that had a rather extensive coverage of your trial, if I recall."

Karkaroff fought to appear composed.

"You, forget, my dear," and here he made the epithet sound like an insult. "I have had dealings with those who are far more deadly than an overly concerned housewife."

Porphyria sneered, and she leant over threateningly, almost touching her nose against Karkaroff's, her swarthy complexion contrasting quite amusingly with his that was now pallid in fear.

"Oh, believe me," she whispered menacingly, "dealing with the Dark Lord will be a picnic compared to dealing with me." Her voice then returned to its original volume, and was laced with dignity. "Well, you know where to send Persephone's O.W.L. results. I've already been making enquiries as to getting her a place in another school to take her N.E.W.T.s, and if anyone asks me why she's left, I'll be only too happy to answer!"

She swept out of the room, grabbing Persephone's arm as she did so, leaving an utterly bewildered and fearful looking Karkaroff in her wake...

Harry looked up at Beauchamp, the link broken. They were both sat calmly on the mat, until Beauchamp got up with a start.

"Cup of tea, Harry?" she offered, which startled Harry.

"Thanks," he replied, watching her carefully as she took a box off her shelf. She prised off the silver lid and let Harry smell it.

"Chinese green tea," she added, and Harry recognised the smell.

"That would be lovely," he replied, and she tapped her small kettle with her left hand, at which it filled with water and began to heat up. She scooped up some of the dried leaves out of the silver box and lay then carefully at the bottom of two ceramic mugs. After a few moments, she poured the hot water over a portion of the dried leaves, and left them to brew for a second.

"You can have milk if you want," Beauchamp offered, "but you really shouldn't drink green tea with milk. Lemon is okay though," she added, reaching for a ripe yellow lemon from a small basket of them nestled against her tea caddy on the shelf behind her desk.

Harry nodded in the affirmative, and watched her grab a dangerous looking dagger from the display on the back wall and deftly chop a lemon in half with it, squeezing some of the contents into each cup.

"I say," she called out to him, "that memory of yours- the one of you teaching all those students the Patronus charm? That's cleared up the mystery of why a handful of my year six students have got such sterling O.W.L. marks!"

"Yeah well, our last Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was rubbish. Hermione suggested I teach some stuff."

Beauchamp laughed.

"Well, you did a good job," she replied, and handed a cup of steaming tea to Harry. He held it in both hands, and was surprised to find the cup had no handle.

"They're from Indonesia," she replied, by way of an explanation. "They don't have handles. You just hold them like a bowl and sip from them."

Harry nodded, and did as he was told, and found it had a sharp, pungent taste. However, it was pleasant, so he drank more, feeling it warm up his stomach and hands.

"Persephone, who was that woman in your memory?" he asked. Beauchamp giggled.

"Oh, that's my Aunt. She's a great old lady- she nutted the headmaster when I came bottom in Divination," she replied.

"Karkaroff," Harry said, absently. Beauchamp's eyes narrowed.

"How did you?... Oh, of course," she laughed, and slapped her hand to her forehead. "The Triwizard Tournament. Viktor told me all about it by sending me letters throughout the tournament; I wish I'd have been young enough to enter... Oh, sorry," she suddenly said, looking suitably embarrassed. "Your friend Cedric. I didn't mean to be so insensitive."

"It's okay," Harry replied, knowing from the look of mortification on her face that she knew she had put her foot in it and was genuinely sorry.

Suddenly, Harry felt himself smile.

"Did Viktor mention Hermione during that time?" he asked. Beauchamp giggled.

"Mention her? He never bloody shut up about her! Every two days I was getting letters saying stuff like, 'I saw this really nice English girl in the Hogwarts library today, but of course I didn't just talk to her, I was scared!' 'Should I ask her to the Ball, then?', 'She doesn't even know I exist!', 'But you can't just go up to a girl and ask her!'. Honestly, when I first taught your year six class, I felt as though I'd known Hermione for years," she replied. Harry grinned.

"Oh, and he was jealous of you, of course," Beauchamp continued. Harry looked up at her.

"Yeah, he asked me if anything was going on between me and Hermione. We're just friends," he added, defensively, "but those articles by Rita Skeeter didn't help."

Beauchamp laughed again.

"Ah, it's such a bind when the tabloids get involved in young love," she declared. "One of the many irritating side effects of that, I suppose," she commented, touching Harry's lightening-bolt scar gently with her fingers. Harry flinched, and Beauchamp quickly moved her hand away.

"You don't know the half of it," he muttered. If Beauchamp heard his words, she didn't respond to them.

"Well, since having come to teach here, I've seen that Viktor, like most boys when it comes to girls, was worried about the wrong boy being his rival," she added, cryptically. After he finished his tea and left Beauchamp's office that evening, he felt she had been more perceptive of that whole Yule Ball event than he or Viktor had ever been, and she wasn't even there to witness it first hand. He made a note to himself to never, ever to share his thoughts about the situation with Ron.

Chapter Sixteen: The Boy Who Lived; The Girl Who Died

Before he even knew it, term had come to an end, and Harry was at the Burrow with Hermione, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys', eating mince pies and sitting in front of a well-stoked fire.

"These are really good, Mrs. Weasley," he piped up, through a mouthful of pastry. Mrs. Weasley smiled at him.

"Well, you just help yourself, young Harry," she replied.

"When are your parents coming over, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Oh, they said they would drive over tomorrow morning," Hermione replied, helping herself to another mince pie. "They told me to tell you that it was awfully nice of you to invite them."

Molly beamed.

"Oh, it's no trouble," she said. "Your parents are lovely!"

Arthur, however, was beaming in a different way.

"Driving over, you say? In a Muggle car?" he asked, excitedly. Molly slapped him hard on the shoulder.

"Don't you dare keep asking them questions about Muggle things, it's so embarrassing when you do that!" she warned, and Arthur looked suitably chastised. Once Molly had gone, however, he turned back to Hermione and whispered, "They won't mind, will they?"

"I doubt it, seeing as they'll be asking you lots of questions about how your wizard stuff works," Hermione replied. Arthur looked puzzled.

"Why would they be so interested in something so mundane?" he asked. Hermione looked up at him.

"One man's meat is another man's poison, I suppose," she replied.

Molly had now taken to pacing nervously around the room.

"What's up, Mum?" Ron asked, whilst taking Ginny's bishop during a game of chess.

"Oh, they should be back soon. What's taking so long?" she muttered, not really paying attention to Ron. Ginny silently 'ahhed' in response.

"She's waiting for Bill and Charlie. They went with Lupin on 'official business' earlier."

"What kind of official business?" Harry asked, in a whisper.

"Snape apparently tipped them off as to a Death Eater attack somewhere in Somerset," she replied. Ron snorted.

"No wonder Mum's worried, then," he added. Hermione slapped him on the shoulder.

"Honestly, Ron; Snape knows what he's doing!"

"Yeah," Ron retorted, "that's what worries me."

He and Ginny continued to play their game of chess, which Ron unsurprisingly won, whilst Hermione sat next to the fire, absorbed in a book. Ron glanced across at her now and then, and eventually caught her eye.

"Honestly, Hermione," he moaned, "it's Christmas! Surely you can put a book down for the holidays!"

"I happen to like reading," Hermione retorted, before settling back down.

"What are you reading, anyway?" Ginny asked. Hermione looked up at her from her book.

"Well, it's all about the various gypsy tribes in the British Isles," she replied, enthusiastically. "Apparently, the Muggle and wizarding tribes are all interlinked, and it is suggested that this is where muggle-borns are originated from! I'm going to ask my parents if they know of any Romany tribes in our family," she continued. Ron groaned.

"Bet you wish you hadn't asked now," he quipped, at which Hermione scowled at him.

"I'm just interested as to where I might have come from," she replied, defensively, and Harry fleetingly understood how she felt. To his credit, Ron looked suitably embarrassed.

"Sorry, Hermione," he replied, "I didn't think..."

"It's okay," she said, clearly not offended, as she continued to read her book.

Harry watched Mrs. Weasley continue to pace up and down, looking agitatedly at the family clock, on which Charlie and Bill's handles were still comfortably pointed at the 'At Work' symbol on the clock face. He understood her concern, for although the Second War was rarely mentioned by people in day-to-day discussions, its effects were becoming noticeable. Little things, such as wizards and witches being less gregarious in public, in case someone was around ready to spread the news to Voldemort that pure-bloods were talking to muggle-borns, threatening both in the process. Was that person you bumped into on the street a Death Eater? Could they be spying on you, waiting for the right moment to attack, and send that feared green Dark Mark into the sky? November the Fifth was an absolute nightmare, according to Hermione's copy of 'The Daily Prophet'. It reported widespread panic in witches and wizards across the country, due solely to the letting off of green sparkly fireworks by Muggles in the area.

Suddenly, Harry heard a 'tick' sound, and saw that the two clock hands belonging to Charlie and Bill had jumped to 'At Home'. A small 'pop' indicated they had returned. Harry swivelled round to see Charlie and Bill standing in the hallway, looking thunderstruck. Another small popping sound later, and Lupin was stood alongside them, looking perturbed.

"Well, how did it go?" Molly asked. They all looked at each other.

"It didn't," Charlie replied. Bill looked across at his mother.

"There was nobody there," he added. "We almost got caught by Muggles on top of it!"

He stormed into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of something amber coloured out of a thin bottle that Harry was sure he'd seen hidden in Professor Beauchamp's office desk. He downed it in one, grimaced, and put the glass down near the sink before walking back in.

"I don't know what happened," Lupin said, frowning. "Severus definitely said there was going to be an attack right at that very spot... Oh, hello, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny," he said, suddenly, having seen the four kids sat around the fire. They waved back.

Bill returned to the living room and faced Lupin.

"I think I can hazard a guess as to what happened," he replied, angrily. Lupin looked perplexed, as did Harry and Hermione, though Ron and Ginny did not.

"Well, think about it, Remus," Bill said. "Snape told us there would be a Death Eater attack in North Somerset on the Johnson family. We get there, and there is no such thing, just a host of Muggle policemen who we really had to sweet-talk and memory charm in order to get out of the place without causing any havoc or attracting Voldemort's attention. Something tells me we're being double-crossed," he finished, thrusting his hands into his pocket. Arthur looked at him with concern.

"Now Bill, don't jump to any conclusions..."

"I didn't jump to any conclusions! I didn't need to! I just took the smallest of steps, and, oh look- I found conclusions!"

He slumped down in a chair next to Hermione with such force, she jumped with fright.

"Sorry, Hermione," he said, by way of an apology.

"It's quite alright," she replied, turning back to her book and avoiding making eye contact with any of the Order members currently congregated in the Weasleys' living room.

"Look, I'm sorry, but I've never liked him, and I certainly don't trust him. And I think today just proved my point," Bill finished. Lupin and Arthur looked at Charlie, who shrugged.

"I don't know," he said, "but it does seem suspicious. Couldn't we at least tell Dumbledore? He'll probably be able to figure it out. At any rate, something went wrong, and we need to figure out what."

"He was a Death Eater!" Bill cried, in exasperation. Molly glared at him.

"Bill! The children..."

"Oh, come on- hey, guys, did you know that your Potions Master was a Death Eater?" he demanded. They nodded.

"Well, yeah."

"Yep."

"For about eighteen months now."

"We were in the hospital ward when he showed Fudge the Mark, remember?"

Molly sighed.

"Can we talk about this another time? It's Christmas, for Heaven's sake- and I don't want any of you to breathe a word about this tomorrow when the Grangers are here!" she warned.

"Don't worry Mum, we won't," Bill conceded, at which Charlie nodded.

"I do think we should let Dumbledore know what happened tonight, though," he added.

"You're right," Lupin agreed. Bill got up out of his seat.

"Right, let's go," he said. Charlie and Lupin exchanged glances.

"Perhaps Remus ought to go alone," Charlie suggested, "he'll be impartial about the whole thing and I think Mum would like us to help sort the tables out for tomorrow, isn't that right, Mum?"

He looked at Molly carefully, until understanding spread across her features, and she smiled.

"Yes, Charlie, you're quite right! I need my two eldest strapping boys to help shift the furniture around!" she agreed. Bill eyed Charlie with suspicion, but made no comment on it.

"You're probably right," he managed to say. Lupin smiled.

"I'll be back soon," he said, looking at Harry. He then disapparated with a small 'pop'.

Christmas dinner the following day was a pleasant affair. Hermione's parents did indeed come over to the Burrow, and Molly's warning about not mentioning their parts in the Order were obeyed too.

"Oh, what an absolutely charming place you have here, Molly!" Mrs. Granger had exclaimed, causing Molly to flush a little with pride.

"It's nothing special..." she began, but was cut off by Mrs. Granger.

"Nonsense!" she replied, "It's lovely, isn't that right, Tom?"

"Oh yes," Mr. Granger replied, looking at the house with mild interest.

"How does it all stay up?" he asked Arthur, who smiled.

"With magic," he replied, simply, before launching into a full-blown interrogation into the workings of the Grangers' Ford Focus parked outside, much to Molly's chagrin.

"Oh, we brought a Christmas pudding for you," Mrs. Granger said, handing Molly a large, moist Christmas pudding certainly large enough to feed fourteen.

"Thank you, Kate," Molly replied.

"So, how many are there going to be here?" Mrs. Granger asked. Molly began counting on her fingers,

"Well, there's you and Tom, myself and Arthur, Harry and your Hermione, a gentleman called Remus Lupin- he taught the children Defence Against the Dark Arts a few years ago, charming man, lost a good friend of his in June, poor fellow..."

"Was that Harry's godfather?" Mrs. Granger asked in a low voice, to which Molly nodded, and the two looked across sympathetically at Harry, who pretended not to notice and continued his chess game with Ron.

"Oh yes, where was I? A young woman called Nymphadora Tonks- dislikes her first name, so goes by the name of Tonks. She's an Auror, which is like... Arthur!" Molly bellowed. "What's the Muggle equivalent of an Auror?"

"Erm, a pleaseman, I think, or perhaps a leggie official," Arthur replied.

"She's the wizarding equivalent of a policeman or perhaps an Army officer," Hermione offered, to which Mrs. Granger nodded in understanding.

"And then there's our children, Bill, who works as a curse-breaker. He travels to ancient tombs, and breaks the spells used to protect the treasure kept there and transfers it to Gringotts, for their benefit alone. So, he's the wizarding equivalent of an investment banker. Charlie, he works with dragons in Romania, so he's the wizarding equivalent of a lunatic," Molly joked, at which Kate laughed. Molly continued.

"There's Per..."

Suddenly, Molly went very quiet. She looked up at the ceiling, and sniffed loudly, wringing her hands against her apron. It was clear to Harry that she was trying to hide welling tears. It seemed clear to Mrs. Granger as well, who looked bewildered.

"Oh dear, what on Earth's the matter?" she exclaimed, handing Molly a handkerchief, which she gratefully accepted.

"Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry. My third eldest, Percy, we've had a bit of a bust up and we haven't spoken for over a year now."

"Oh, I am sorry," Mrs. Granger replied, patting Molly on the back soothingly. She calmed down after a while, and after some more apologies and lengthy discussions of family feuds that didn't interest Harry in the slightest, Molly continued.

"There's also my twins, Fred and George, who run their own joke shop in Diagon Alley..."

"Oh yes, I saw that when we dropped Hermione off in September," Kate replied.

Ron sniggered.

"Yeah, she's only mentioning that because they're doing really well out of it," he whispered to Harry, who smiled.

"And there's Ron, of course, who you already know, because he's a prefect along with your daughter, and Ginny, who's the youngest."

"And as such has done nothing of merit to impress you with yet," Ginny shouted back. Molly glared at her.

"Ginny, for Merlin's sake!" she hissed. Kate merely smiled.

"I don't know, what about your wit?" she asked, at which Ginny grinned, and Molly looked relieved.

Soon enough, everyone was sat around the dinner table, and Harry found himself sitting between Ron and Fred, with Tonks and Lupin sitting opposite. Hermione and Ginny were sat together next to them, and the Grangers, plus Arthur and Molly Weasley, were sat at the other end of the table, with the rest of the Weasley clan sat between them. The meal was fairly uneventful, save for a few choice moments where Molly grabbed Fred and George literally by their ears and warned them, in graphic detail, what would happen to them if they so much as dared to try one of their practical jokes out on or near the Grangers, and the communication breakdown that occurred when Kate Granger offered to help peel the potatoes, but was flummoxed when she couldn't find a peeler, which started Arthur off on a hunt in his garage, until he proudly pulled out a large machine that he claimed printed dots onto paper, though he couldn't figure out why that would help with potatoes. Hermione soon sorted the mess out by pointing out that Arthur had, in fact, got a brailler, which was used to print raised dots on paper so that blind people could read it, and would serve no purpose in the kitchen. The Granger and the Weasley parents had laughed about it, though their children didn't think it half as amusing.

"Sorry our dad's nuts," Fred whispered.

"S'okay," Hermione replied, "sorry my mum's interfering."

"I always wondered where you got that from," Ron commented.

They had all laughed at that exchange, however.

Harry was busy eating his Christmas pudding, although it was becoming a challenge after having consumed such a huge meal of turkey with all the trimmings, two different preparations of potato and a vast array of vegetables, when there was a knock at the door. Molly and Arthur exchanged glances.

"We weren't expecting anyone else," Molly murmured.

"I'll get it," Arthur replied, cheerily, getting up. Harry noticed he had a firm grip on his wand. He walked towards the door and opened it.

"Ah, Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, and Harry saw Molly breathe a sigh of relief.

"Good afternoon, Arthur," Dumbledore replied, "I'm terribly sorry to interrupt you at Christmas..."

"Oh, it's no trouble," he countered. "Would you like something to eat? We've plenty left."

Dumbledore smiled.

"Perhaps later," he replied, "I've actually come to have a word with young Bill, if I may."

Bill looked accusingly at Charlie and Lupin. Dumbledore laughed.

"It's quite alright, I just want to put your mind at ease," he replied, "and I thought the sooner, the better..."

He glanced across the table and let his gaze rest on the Grangers.

"Oh, hello," he beamed.

"Erm, hi," Mr. Granger replied, before Hermione jumped up out of her chair.

"Mum, Dad, this is our headmaster, Professor Dumbledore," she announced, as she hastily introduced them.

"Ah, delighted to meet you," Dumbledore replied, shaking Kate and Tom's hands warmly, and making brief conversation about how clever their daughter is before he and Bill went 'somewhere private' to 'discuss matters'.

"Nice to meet you both," he said, before he and Bill went up the stairs.

Ron, Harry and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Oh no you don't," Molly ordered, before Ron had even opened his mouth.

"But Mum..."

"But nothing! Eat your pudding."

"Maybe Bill will tell us what happened later," Ginny soothed, but Hermione had other plans. She suddenly came over all woozy.

"Oh," she moaned, "I'm so sorry, I feel all light headed!"

She suddenly put her hand to her head, and her breathing got a little ragged. Molly jumped up.

"Oh, Harry! Be a love and take her upstairs to the bathroom- it's cool in there, and she'll be able to splash her face," she said, wringing her hands. Harry nodded.

"Will do- I'll sit with her until she's okay," he replied.

"Oh yes, good idea," Molly agreed, with Kate nodding.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll be okay with Harry, Mum," Hermione replied, as she gingerly got to her feet and leant on Harry's arm, before he escorted her upstairs.

They had reached the first floor before Harry prodded Hermione sharply in the ribs.

"You sly little minx!" he whispered. "If you weren't my friend, I'd kiss you!"

"Just be quiet and let's find out where Bill and Dumbledore have gone," she whispered back, having miraculously recovered.

As luck would have it, the locked door behind which Harry could tell Bill and Dumbledore were having their conversation was right next to the bathroom, so they surreptitiously slid one of Fred and George's Extendable Ears under the door, and sat on the edge of the bath in anticipation.

"I think Fred and George managed to put a spell on these to let them break through Imperturbable charms," Hermione explained. "They were saying something about a prototype..."

Suddenly, they were able to hear the conversation as clear as thought they were in the room themselves.

"...cup of tea, Bill?"

"Look, Albus, please don't change the subject. I'm not disputing that you trust Severus. I'm disputing why."

"I've told you before, and I'll tell you again; I trust Severus Snape in his defection from Voldemort," he replied, calmly.

"How can you be so sure? Lucius Malfoy didn't really leave Voldemort; neither did Macnair. How do you know Snape has?" Bill replied, with incredulity. Dumbledore kept his voice in the same warm tone he had used since offering Bill a cup of tea.

"He will never rejoin the man who killed his daughter. Ever."

Harry and Hermione exchanged shocked glances. From the silence coming from their end of the Extendable Ears, they correctly assumed Bill was just as shocked by the news. Snape had a daughter?

"Snape has a daughter?" Bill croaked. Harry heard Dumbledore sigh.

"Had a daughter. She was killed when she was just six years old."

"Hold on a moment- six? That doesn't make sense. The war was over when Harry was just one! James and Lily were in the same year at school as him..."

"He had her young. Much too young, in fact, but that is not the point."

"What was she like?" Bill asked, in an altogether softer tone.

"A cute little thing, actually. Jet black hair..."

"She didn't have his nose then?... Thank Merlin for that!"

Harry heard Dumbledore laugh softly.

"That's fairly similar to what he said, actually."

He appeared to muse for a moment.

"You wouldn't have met Hermione Granger when she was ten, would you?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, but I've heard the stories from Ron- bossy little brain box who read huge books for fun," Bill replied, with a laugh directed at his brother. Harry saw Hermione scowl a little.

"Well, she was like that. Bright as a button, as Minerva described her once. And she was bossy. She'd tell her father off for swearing."

"And he didn't lose his rag?" Bill seemed incredulous.

"That little girl saw a side of him the rest of us hardly, if ever, did. He loved her, Bill, like any parent loves their child. Minerva told me herself that I should have seen the look on Severus' face after his first Potions class with both Hermione and Harry. It couldn't have been pleasant for him, awakening all those memories with one class."

"So, what happened?"

"He came to me, a year or so after first receiving the mark- came right to my office and told me everything. He said he didn't much care what happened to him, but if I had any decency, I'd make sure his daughter was taken care of."

Bill laughed harshly.

"Typical of Snape; laying down conditions when he's hardly in a place to do so."

Dumbledore made no reply to this, and continued his story.

"We came up with the idea of him returning to Voldemort as a spy together. He seemed to think it would at least prove useful, but the proviso to him agreeing wholeheartedly was for me to put his daughter into safety. Safety from the Death Eaters, safety from himself. We both didn't want to think about what he might be forced to do to her if Voldemort ever found out of his defection."

"So, a Fidelus charm?" Bill asked. There was a pause, where Harry assumed Dumbledore made some movement with his head.

"That's correct, except we used it on the girl and her life. Once the charm was completed, none but her Secret Keeper could remember she even existed."

"Who was the Secret Keeper?"

"Lily Potter," Dumbledore replied, and Harry had to fight the impulse to gasp in shock.

"They were friends, of a fashion, during their younger years at school," Dumbledore continued. "Severus specifically asked me to inform Lily as to the plan, and she came to my office almost instantly. Within half an hour she became the sole living person on the planet that knew of the little girl's existence. She told James they had adopted her, and they raised her whilst Lily was pregnant with her own child."

"Harry?"

"Yes. After young Harry was born, of course, we got wind that Voldemort was after the Potters, so we put them under the Fidelus charm, hiding them in Godric's Hollow. If we had a memory of Severus' daughter at the time, we would have both thought she couldn't be any safer, being hidden under two Fidelus charms. We didn't, of course, expect Peter Pettigrew to defect."

"Oh, God!" Bill breathed slowly.

"She was the first to die at Voldemort's hands. James got to her too late. Then it was him, then Lily, and... well, you know the rest."

Harry and Hermione stared at each other, nothing but silence came from their Extendable Ears for quite a while. Eventually, they heard Bill ask.

"Okay, I understand," he sighed. Harry heard a bed creak as Dumbledore got up.

"Wait, before you go, there is one thing," Bill asked.

"Yes?"

"Why did Snape come to you in the first place? What drove him to..."

Bill was suddenly quiet.

"I have shared one story that was not mine to share already, I'm not about to repeat such an act," Dumbledore replied. "It goes without saying that this is strictly between you and me, I just need to make sure that none of us in the Order are worrying that others are not doing what they should. Times are getting more and more serious, Bill, we have no choice but to trust."

On hearing Dumbledore walk towards the door, Harry quickly pulled up his Extendable Ears and jammed them in his pocket. He was in the process of splashing Hermione's face with water and asking her if she felt better when Dumbledore and Bill exited the room. Bill walked down the stairs, but Dumbledore waited a moment, and poked his head around the bathroom door.

"That goes for you two as well," he confirmed, before following Bill downstairs.

"Well, it's hardly like we were expecting Dumbledore not to notice, not really," Hermione sighed. Harry's brain was working overtime. He had lived, when Snape's daughter had died. He suddenly felt sick.

"Oh, God, so that's why he hates me," he whispered, as though speaking any louder would somehow cause some mystical force to break through the walls and agree with him.

"I imagine it's a combination of things," Hermione replied, in equally hushed tones. "Your dad, Sirius and Lupin, his daughter..."

She suddenly burst into tears, and it took Harry a while to figure out why.

"It's not your fault," he soothed, rubbing her back gently.

"God, how must he have felt," she sobbed, rocking a little on the edge of the bath.

"Look," Harry said confidently, "you can't help the way you are. It isn't like you sat in that Potions classroom in that first lesson and consciously decided that you'd behave a bit like his daughter did when she was almost half your age."

Hermione wiped her eyes on a tissue Harry handed her.

"I know, I know... You're right, of course," she finished, calming down.

"C'mon," Harry said, once they had both processed the information they had received, "Let's go back downstairs."

They walked out of the bathroom, wondering how exactly they were going to tell Ron what he would be desperate to know. 


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Seventeen: Rebel Without A Clue

"Blimey!" Ron gasped, and sat down on his bed to steady himself. It had taken Harry and Hermione until the nighttime to finally be able to speak to Ron and Ginny in private about the incident in the Weasleys' bathroom. Ginny had briefly complained about Hermione's pristine reputation elevating her above Mrs. Weasley's suspicions, and wished she radiated that same innocence.

"Blimey!" Ron repeated, as though his vocabulary had suddenly shrunk dramatically.

"I know," Hermione repeated, padding around the room in her nightdress and slippers.

"The poor guy," Ginny added. "I'm starting to feel guilty about hating him so much."

"Don't feel too guilty," Harry replied. "He's still horrible. He's just had something horrible happen to him, as well. Anyway, it wouldn't have happened if he hadn't become a Death Eater in the first place!"

Hermione looked shocked.

"Harry!"

"It's true, you can't deny it," he replied, quickly, and Hermione looked as though she saw his point.

"Anyway, we have to act like we don't know, otherwise Snape's going to do his nut!" Ron added. "Just be grateful you've got Occlumency lessons with Beauchamp, Harry, at least she doesn't know anything about this!"

"Don't I know it," Harry replied, darkly.

"I wonder who the girl is?" Ginny asked, absently. Hermione shook her head.

"I guess we'll never know," she replied. Ron looked up at her in shock.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "What about the birth and death records? They go back centuries! We could trace her easily- I'm sure Madam Pince will let you access them from the Hogwarts' library. I mean, she's let you get a look at the St. Mungo's records!" he finished, with an air of triumph. Hermione shook her head again.

"That's not the problem," she replied, "The problem is with the Snapes."

Ron, Harry and Ginny looked at her in perplexity,

"Huh?" they managed collectively. Hermione pointed to her book that Ginny had been using to balance Ron's chessboard on.

"It's all in there. The Snapes are not an old wizarding family; they're an old wizarding tribe. They originated as two separate Romany clans during the Twelfth Century in North Yorkshire and Suffolk, and spread across Europe like a rash. They have very few records of their existence, because they live outside of registration laws and the like. There certainly won't be enough to link one member of the family to another."

Ron sighed.

"Bugger," he said, and Hermione slapped him on the arm.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, and Harry was irresistibly reminded of what Dumbledore had told Bill about Hermione's similarity to the little girl that died in his own house. He didn't find it particularly comforting.

"Hey, watch it!" Ron exclaimed, as Hermione pulled her book out from under his chessboard and flicked through it, suddenly pointing out a page.

"Look here!" she said, in a voice that denoted she had found something of interest. "I knew I'd seen this before. The Snapes have a rather curious burial ritual, apparently, known as the ritual of Draconis. The body is kept away from the relatives until the next new moon, apparently in order to ensure it is pure enough to ascend, rather than descend, through the underworld..."

"How can you ascend though an underworld?" Harry asked. "Surely it's, well, under you."

Hermione shrugged.

"I suppose it's a figure of speech. I think it's a reference to going to Heaven, rather than Hell. Ooh, when the bodies are prepared for burial, the closest living male will leave a bunch of asphodel flowers to be placed in the dead person's hands... how fascinating!"

"Yeah, 'Miss Morbid 1996', fascinating," Ron replied, looking slightly disgusted.

"Why asphodel?" Ginny asked.

"Beauchamp called them 'food for the dead' when we went to see her in the hospital wing last month," Harry pointed out. Hermione nodded.

"They're supposed to provide nourishment for the body as it travels onto the afterlife," she said, closing her book quietly and slipping it back under Ron's chessboard.

Harry sighed. It was Christmas, and already they were up to their eyeballs in bizarre events and curious discoveries. He was glad of it for the most part, though, for it helped take his mind off Sirius. He had heard that the holidays were the worst time when you had lost someone, and he was starting to understand why. The reasoning was very simple: it was Christmas, everyone was with their families, and Sirius wasn't here to be with his. It wasn't even as though he could go and place flowers on his grave- his body had fallen through that veil and he doubted the Ministry would let down their tight security in order to let him lay a bunch of carnations in the Department of Mysteries for a man they still considered a mass murderer.

He glanced across the room, only to see Hermione looking sympathetically at him, which he found he could not bear, and avoided her gaze.

"Harry? Do you want to play 'Pointless Endeavour'?" Ginny suddenly asked out of nowhere. Harry looked at her.

"Huh?"

"It's a board game. In 'Pointless Endeavour' you have to answer questions and collect six rune stones to put on your counter, then get your piece to the centre of the board. The first person to do it wins, and the rest of the players get squirted with Stinksap. The fewer runes you collected, the more Stinksap you get squirted with," she explained. Harry raised his eyebrows at this.

"But why?" he asked. "What's the point?"

Ginny grinned.

"Well, there isn't one. That's why it's called 'Pointless Endeavour'!"

Harry shrugged, and joined in with the game, which took hours to complete, and Hermione inevitably won, though Ron was quick to point out that he had got the question about Grindelwald and the Muggle boy who defiantly stamped on his foot correct, which no-one else had known.

"Honestly, Ron, it was one question!" Ginny groaned. Ron stared at her defiantly.

"Yeah, but who got it, huh? Me! My question! And," he added, triumphantly, "who else knew it? Nobody. Not even Hermione!"

"Nice to know I'm a valued yard-stick in your acquisition of general knowledge," she had replied, with a slightly sarcastic expression on her face.

"Ooh, look!" Ginny said, pointing out of the window. "A shooting star!"

"Where, where!" Ron replied excitedly, pushing his way to the window.

"Shouldn't we make a wish?" Harry asked. Hermione smiled wistfully while looking out of the window from where she stood.

"How about making a wish for a better world," she replied, quietly. Harry though he couldn't have put it any better himself. They sat in a comfortable silence before going to bed, Harry with his grief considerably lessened from the companionship of his friends.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione took the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts the next week, under the watchful eye of Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt, much to Harry's chagrin. He liked them both a lot, but the fact that he was being kept under guard infuriated him. No matter how much the logical part of his brain tried to reason that it made perfect sense and would ensure his safety, as well as that of Ron, Ginny and Hermione, Steve, the savage part of his brain, jumped in now and then to petulantly protest.

"C'mon, Harry," Tonks quietly encouraged, on seeing Harry brooding in the corner seat at the back of the Knight Bus. "I know it's an arse, but we're only doing it because we all care about you."

"You mean you care about the prophecy," Harry snapped back in fury. Tonks looked hurt.

"Now, that's not fair. We care about you because you're Harry, no more, no less."

She turned away suddenly, and Harry felt guilt begin to eat away at his insides.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, grabbing her hand. She wiped her face with the other, and smiled at him weakly.

"Yeah, 'course you are," she replied. "We're all under stress at the moment. Difficult times..." she trailed off, and neither spoke again. Harry didn't let go of her hand until they reached the Hogwarts stop.

"Take care, all of you," Tonks said, giving them all a brief hug before they stepped off the bus. Kingsley Shacklebolt merely raised an eyebrow.

"If any of you get into trouble," he said, carefully, "just contact one of us."

"Not that you should have any hassle, with Dumbledore here protecting the place," Tonks reminded them, shooting Kingsley a quite aggressive glare, at which he just shrugged his shoulders.

"Things are getting heated, Tonks, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Harry glanced up at the two Aurors.

"What do you mean, heated?" he asked, warily. Tonks and Kingsley shared a glance, as though remembering what happened last time Harry was kept in the dark about Voldemort's plans, before Kingsley bent down to whisper to Harry.

"Voldemort's gathering his forces as we speak. They are far greater in number than you could imagine. We've been trying to prevent the Death Eater attacks, and have been managing it okay, but we don't have the resources or numbers to cope fully with an increase in Voldemort's followers, which is going to happen soon. The Ministry are unprepared, seeing as they chose to stick their heads in the sand over the whole issue last year."

He looked at Tonks, as though to glean her approval of his narrative skills. She nodded, and he continued.

"Hogwarts has always been safe- he never dared to attack the school during the first war whilst Dumbledore was headmaster. However," he sighed heavily, "what with that vampire attack in your Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, that appears to have changed. Just be on your guard."

Stunned more by the disclosure of this information than what it actually meant, Harry nodded dumbly. Ron and Hermione had been listening, of course, and appeared shocked. Hermione actually clapped her hands to her mouth, leaving Ron to ask the most pertinent question.

"Why should we be on our guard when we've got a bunch of teachers who are all in the Order?" he asked Kingsley, in equally hushed tones. Tonks looked uncomfortable.

"There are things going on that just don't add up at the moment," she whispered back.

"Our sources have been giving us some erroneous information at times," Kingsley added. Harry raised an eyebrow at them.

"You mean Snape," he stated, rather than asked.

"We don't know anything at the moment," Tonks said, but she didn't meet Harry's eyes. Kingsley looked darkly at her.

"No, we don't. So don't go hanging the man just yet," he said.

Harry stepped off the Knight Bus feeling a lot less secure than he had fifteen minutes ago. Ginny and Hermione were deep in serious conversation, which Harry correctly assumed involved Hermione explaining the details of Kingsley's words to the now pallid Ginny.

"Bloody hell!" Ron managed to gasp. "It's worse than I thought!"

Harry had to admit Kingsley had made him a little more fearful, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He had seen the reports of attacks, heard the rumours of Voldemort's followers, and remembered the subtext Hermione pointed out in the Daily Prophet. It all had added up to one thing: Voldemort was organising attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns, the Order were staving them off, and the Ministry were struggling to keep up. Oh, and there was that little thing about him being the wizarding world's last hope, which was mildly disconcerting to say the least.

"Well, not really 'mildly'," Harry thought, "more 'enormously'."

"Yeah," Harry managed to say aloud, looking up at the grey sky. They dragged their trunks to the school gates in silence, until they bumped into Neville outside the entrance to the Hogwarts building. Literally, as it turned out, for both parties nearly spilled the contents of their trunks from the force of the collision.

"Oh, sorry, Harry!" Neville said, helping him to lift his trunk up off the floor.

"It's okay," Harry replied, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I dunno, Harry, you've been away with the fairies most of last term- perhaps you should make your New Year's resolution to pay more attention to your surroundings," Ron laughed. Harry pulled a face at him.

"Yeah, yeah..." he replied, in mock sulkiness. Truthfully, he felt concerned that even Ron had noticed how distant he had been in recent weeks. Perhaps he should just tell them both about the prophecy, it would certainly take a weight off his mind. He remembered the old adage- a problem shared is a problem halved. Then he revised the old adage- a problem shared is gossip.

"Oh, Harry, Ron, what's the new password?" Neville asked them. Ron and Harry glanced at each other.

"Erm..."

"We're not sure."

"Well, if you'd bothered to ask me," Hermione said from behind them, "You'd know the password was 'Queerditch Marsh', wouldn't you?"

The painting swung away, and the door to their common room opened. Hermione stepped inside, dragging her trunk alongside her and headed straight up to the girls' dormitory to unpack, Crookshanks following loyally behind her. Ginny looked at the boys, said something about 'girl troubles', and quickly followed Hermione up to their dormitory.

Ron turned to face Harry and Neville with a look of utter bewilderment.

"Girls!" he sighed. "What are they on?"

Seamus, who was sat in the common room playing Exploding Snap with Dean, shrugged.

"Maybe it's the same thing as Dean?" he replied. "I mean, honestly, what is so funny about 'Queerditch Marsh'?"

Harry and Ron shrugged, despite Harry having noticed Dean begin to crack up laughing as soon as Seamus had uttered the first syllable of 'Queerditch'.

"Have you guys unpacked already?" Neville asked. Dean nodded.

"Got here an hour ago, mate. What else was there to do?"

Harry, Ron and Neville mutely decided to do the same, and dragged their trunks up the stairs to their dormitory. Neville pushed the door open with his trunk, and let Harry and Ron struggle through before dragging it away towards his bed.

"What's this?" Harry heard Ron say. He turned to ask him what he was talking about, when he saw a rolled-up parchment on his bed. On glancing at Ron, he had evidently received a similar note.

"Oh, it's from Roger Davies... It's our Quidditch practice times!"

Ron's grin at receiving this information soon disappeared under a frown.

"How many times a week? How does Roger think we'll find time to practise this much?"

Harry read the timetable himself. Twice a week didn't seem that awful to Harry, until he saw what times they were going to be practising at.

"Six o'clock in the morning!" Harry heard himself shout in disbelief.

"I know, mate, I shouldn't have to see a clock ever show that time in the morning," Ron replied, shaking his head. Neville, who Harry noticed had been scanning through a copy of the Daily Prophet with considerable vexation, now began practically rolling on the floor with laughter at their indignation, before calming down and wiping his eyes.

"Well, they do say it's the sport of warlocks," he giggled.

"Yeah, warlocks who don't have homework... Hey! Do you think that's the real reason we're getting so much work to do? So that the teachers can be sure we won't get much time left over to practise?"

Harry looked at his Quidditch practice timetable again.

"They are a crafty lot," he said, absently. Ron scowled, and made a great show of setting his alarm clock to go off at five in the morning.

"Well, if that's the way they want to play, then they'd better be prepared," he announced, as though he was about to adopt it as a call-to-arms.

Harry merely smiled, and continued to unpack his belongings.

The next morning, Harry and Ron returned from Quidditch practice exhausted, their scarlet robes covered in mud and sweat.

"Ergh," Ron moaned, looking down at himself. "We look a right sight. Plus we must smell like the inside of Filch's broom cupboard."

Harry sniffed at his robes, and found he had to agree with him.

"Roger's a slave driver!" Ron continued.

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again; he's worse than Wood ever was," Harry agreed. Ron laughed.

"Fred and George said he was a right nutter about it, too."

"Still, it was a great idea, getting us to play against the reserve team," Harry pointed out. Ron nodded.

"Yeah, even if we did have to spend another two hours of our lives with Malfoy," he grumbled. Harry sighed.

"Trust him to manage to knock me off my broom under the muddiest area of the pitch. I know it was only a few feet or so, but still," he grumbled, picking a bit of dried mud off the hem of his robes. Ron snorted.

"You think that was bad? What about when I took a Bludger to the head and crashed into the mud next to the hoops? All Roger could say was 'Get up! I've heard stories of Beauchamp's Beating skills; that's nothing compared to what she might throw at you, so get used to it!' I think he's been listening to her goading for too long."

"And yet you had to laugh when he was on his soapbox about it, didn't you?" Harry teased. Ron smirked.

"Well, come on Harry, talking about her Beating skills? I'm surprised I managed to stay up on my broom after that clanger!"

Harry fought to suppress the hideous mental image that sprung to mind when reminded of his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and the sexual connotations of her Quidditch playing position, and happily succeeded, though the thought of Professor Beauchamp reminded him to look at his watch.

"We've got Defence Against the Dark Arts in two hours," he pointed out on looking at his watch face, "I suppose we ought to get cleaned up."

Ron nodded in agreement.

"I think I might just use the Prefect's bathroom." He glanced furtively around, then continued. "Come up to the common-room in fifteen minutes, and I'll sneak you in if you like. They're so much better than the other ones!"

"Yeah, cheers Ron," Harry replied, truly grateful that he was friends with a prefect willing to bend the rules. "I'll see you in a bit."

Ron turned around and headed up the nearby staircase towards the fourth floor. Harry went to ascend the staircase too, but suddenly realised he had left his school-bag in the changing rooms, so had to back track along the route he had walked with Ron down the underground corridor that adjoined the Hogwarts castle to the changing rooms under the Quidditch pitch to get there. On approaching the changing rooms, he saw a blonde-haired boy wearing green Quidditch robes, who Harry correctly identified as Draco Malfoy, leaning against the wall of the changing-rooms, blocking the path of another student.

"Look, what happened last term..." Draco appeared to be struggling with his words. "It shouldn't have happened. We were stupid..."

"What do you mean 'we'? I think you'll find I was not an active participant," the girl replied, with an edge of frostiness to her voice, which Harry found all too familiar. He did a double take at the girl obscured by Draco to confirm his suspicions. He couldn't believe it. What in Merlin's name was going on?

"I just wanted to say," Draco continued, clearly ignoring the response he'd received, "that I'm... I'm..."

"Oh come on, Malfoy, you've nearly got a full sentence there, keep going."

"Shut up, Granger! I'm trying to think!"

Harry heard Hermione snigger.

"That's a new one for you, isn't it?"

"Look!" Draco was sounding increasingly irritated. "I didn't come over to you to argue, I just wanted to say that... the incident was regretful, and I hope you can find it in your heart, or whatever it is you've got, to... not tell anyone."

"Fine." Hermione sounded bored.

"Because it's embarrassing."

"You're telling me!"

"And I still hate you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Glad to hear it."

"Good!" and at this, he walked away up the underground corridor to the Hogwarts building. Harry saw Hermione roll her eyes, check her watch, and peer round the changing room door.

She almost screamed when Harry tapped her on the shoulder.

"Oh, Harry! There you are!" she replied, once she had calmed down, though she still appeared a little nervous.

"I didn't know you were waiting," he commented. Hermione smiled at him.

"Well, I wanted to know how you and Ron's first practice went. Where is he?" she asked, peering over Harry's shoulder as he entered the changing-rooms.

"Went to get cleaned up in the prefect's bathroom," he replied, reaching under a nearby bench in the changing-rooms to retrieve his bag. He walked out again.

"Anyway," he asked, "what's going on with you and Malfoy?"

Hermione turned an odd shade of white.

"Nothing! What makes you think there's anything going on?" she asked, a little shrilly.

"Erm, because you were talking to him about five minutes ago?" Harry replied, sardonically. Hermione blushed a deep red.

"That, that... that was nothing important," she stammered, looking at her watch again. She laughed a little manically.

"Oh look at that! I've got Arithmancy, can't be late, see you in Defence class!" she shouted, running up the underground corridor before Harry could even think about catching up with her.

Having showered and having eaten a hearty breakfast, Harry made his way to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom for his first lesson of the day feeling pretty good. Well, providing he didn't think about his exchange with Hermione earlier. What was going on? He knew she had a rather annoying habit of keeping secrets from him and Ron, but this one was altogether more disconcerting.

"Oi, Harry, wait up!" Ron called, running to catch up with him. Harry slowed down his pace, and the two met up just before reaching the classroom.

"Do you know what we're doing today?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"Something about different defence styles, I think," he said, opening the door.

The desks and chairs of the classroom were nowhere to be seen. In their place was a huge foam mat. A bunch of Gryffindor students were milling around, looking bewildered. The Slytherins appeared to find the whole thing rather amusing.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, warily. Hermione, who was standing with Neville, shrugged.

"No idea," she replied. Pansy Parkinson giggled.

"Ooh, that'll be a first," she sneered, to the amusement of the rest of the Slytherins- with the exception of Draco, Harry noticed, who appeared to be a little nervous. Hermione ignored them.

"Professor Beauchamp didn't explain. She just said she'd be back in a minute," she added.

As if on cue, Professor Beauchamp entered the classroom.

"Are we waiting for anyone else?" she asked, glancing across the classroom before shutting the door.

"Right," she began, and the class fell silent. "Today I want to teach you some rudimentary non-magical defence skills."

"Non-magical defence?" Ron whispered to Harry, as though the words were oxymoronic.

"So, first of all I'd like you to put your wands away, and take off your shoes and socks," Beauchamp ordered, with a clap of her hands. The class obeyed, amid tittering and quiet discussion. Once they were all settled, she began to pace the length of the mat, and Harry noticed she was bare-footed too.

"Are we all ready? Good, good. Now, today I want to teach you some Muggle defence manoeuvres. Does anybody here know what I'm talking about?"

The class looked blankly at each other. Hermione raised her hand.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Do you mean martial arts?" she asked. Beauchamp clasped her hands in silent prayer.

"Thank God for that! Someone knows what I'm taking about. Now, contrary to what the name implies, martial arts have nothing to do with painting. It is an all-encompassing term used to describe many styles of fighting and defending that have usually originated in the Far East. Some use weapons, many use fists and feet..."

Harry saw that Draco's hand was up in the air.

"Yes, Draco?" Beauchamp sighed.

"Why exactly is it going to be useful to learn Muggle defence?" he asked, with obvious distaste. Many of the Slytherins, and a few of the Gryffindors, seemed to agree with him. Beauchamp smiled evilly.

"Oh, I'm so glad somebody asked that!" she replied, raising her eyebrows. She looked hard at Draco.

"Well, seeing as you clearly need convincing, can I use you in a demonstration?" she asked. Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle for support, then replied, "I'd rather not, seeing as I don't know what you're going to..."

"Draco, you misunderstand me. The request was just me being polite. I was actually demanding you help me in a demonstration," she interrupted, breezily. The Gryffindors sniggered, and Draco walked up to face Beauchamp. She bowed, and he did the same.

"Right, face me with your wand... oh, I told you to put them away, didn't I? Here-" She handed Draco a long dark wand. "use mine. Now, attack me."

Draco looked as though someone had just smashed a Bludger into his face.

"Huh?" he managed to reply. Beauchamp sighed.

"Just do it. Anything you like."

Draco raised the wand.

"Rictu..."

"Sinistra; Expelliarmis," she countered, swiftly, and the wand flew out of Draco's hand into her own. She put it on her desk and walked towards him until they were only an inch apart.

"Right, so now you have no wand, and no weapons, and I'm still going to attack you. What are you going to do, huh? What are you going to do?"

Draco looked dumbfounded, but then, so did the rest of the class. Beauchamp smiled.

"Exactly. You've got nothing left, except maybe to run, but you don't want that to be your only hope."

She picked her wand up again and handed it to Draco.

"Right, I'd like you to attack me again, in your own time," she requested. Draco nodded. After a few moments pause, he shouted, "Rictu..."

Before he had got the words out, Beauchamp had pushed his wand arm away with her left arm, stuck her leg under his right leg, causing him to lose his balance, at which point she grabbed his right arm and twisted him forwards so he was facing the mat, pinning his arm to his back and pushing down on his back with her knee. The class gave various gasps of astonishment, except for Draco, who appeared to be choking.

"Oh, sorry, Draco," Beauchamp said, loosening her grip a little.

"So," she asked the boy struggling under her weight, "see why it's useful now?"

Harry saw Draco nod, and Beauchamp helped him to his feet, and thanked him for helping her demonstration.

"So you see, class, it's always useful to have a little extra arsenal under your belt. Chances are any wizard attacker you may come across has never heard of such defence, much less mastered it, so a few choice disarming and defence manoeuvres can come in very handy."

So Harry found himself facing Neville and practising how to throw and unbalance without using magic. It proved difficult, as Neville was certainly about a third heavier than he was, but he was beginning to get the hang of it, when Beauchamp tapped him on the shoulder.

"Harry, could you work with Ron for a bit? Neville, if you work with Dean..."

They swapped partners, when Harry saw Beauchamp place a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Hermione, would you partner Draco for a while?" she asked. Knowing the request wasn't open for discussion, she nodded and turned to face Draco, neither looking particularly pleased with the situation.

Ron looked at Harry in horror.

"What is she playing at?" he mouthed at him. Harry shrugged, but he couldn't help but feel concerned, and probably didn't pay as much attention to throwing Ron over his shoulder as he should have. Not that it mattered, for Harry saw Ron was scrutinising Hermione and Draco as much as he was. More worryingly, Harry noticed as he glanced at the lanky frame of their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as she walked between groups, correcting and offering hints, Beauchamp appeared to be paying Hermione and Draco almost as much attention as he and Ron were.

Professor McGonagall walked into their lesson sometime near the end, and watched the groups of students hurling each other over their shoulders, or causing each other to fall over, with obvious curiosity.

"I say," she commented, loud enough for the class to hear, "in all my thirty-nine years of teaching, I have never witnessed this in a Defence lesson!"

"Ah, well." Beauchamp grinned. "The times, they are a-changin'. They are actually learning a very important skill- just ask Draco," she joked. The class giggled. McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but said no more. Beauchamp clapped her hands.

"Okay, that's enough for today! I would like an essay about the benefits and disadvantages of Muggle defence and how we might be able to implement it on my desk for this time next week, and I trust you've all completed last week's homework assignment."

The class grumbled at the mention of homework. Beauchamp smirked.

"Ahh, that's what I like to hear- the sound of infectious enthusiasm," she said. She looked at McGonagall pointedly, and they both made their way outside.

"Well, that was odd," Ron commented. Neville grinned.

"It was fun, though! Muggle defence... I never thought it took such skill! I'd always imagined it just involved hitting each other with fists until one of you fell over," he replied.

"Here," Ron shouted, "Hermione, are you okay?"

"Fine," Hermione replied, curtly, before walking briskly away. At first Harry thought her behaviour odd, until he saw a giggling Lavender and Pavarti nudge each other and look in her direction before quickly following her out of the classroom.

"Do you think she's all right?" Neville asked. Harry nodded.

"If Lavender and Pavarti had given me that look and giggle, I expect I'd be running out of the classroom too," he replied. Ron looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"Harry, you haven't even got your socks on yet!"

Harry looked down at his bare feet and realised Ron's point.

"Look, I'll catch you up, okay?"

"Sure, I'll see you in the common room," Ron replied, leaving with Neville whilst Harry sat down to pull on his socks and lace his shoes.

After a few minutes, Harry walked out of the classroom, and heard Professor Beauchamp talking in concerned tones to Professor McGonagall in an empty classroom next door.

"...Well, after what Filius mentioned happened in his Charms lesson, I must admit I was a little concerned. He has been acting rather oddly," he heard Beauchamp state. "His grades have been lower than I would expect from his previous marks, too."

"Hmm." McGonagall sounded perturbed. "Are you sure that's why? It's been no secret that Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy dislike each other. Do you not think he might be trying to get to them through Miss. Granger?"

Beauchamp laughed harshly.

"Not a chance, Minerva," she responded. "He spends most of his lessons staring at her in a 'nothing says I love you like a heartfelt restraining order' way, rather than the 'I want to humiliate you and your friends' classic we all know and love. Also, I put Draco and Hermione together for this class, just to see how he behaved towards her. It's pretty clear; he's a little preoccupied by her. I'm a bit concerned. I know he's had a tough time of things, what with his father going to Azkaban and all... I think he might be... rebelling."

"Rebelling?" McGonagall sounded unconvinced.

"Rebelling. It's a classic response to a sudden, unexpected shift in a relationship dynamic, which would be the sudden removal of his father, I suppose. What better way to rebel against your blood-proud family than become interested in a Muggle-born?"

"What do you suggest?" McGonagall asked.

"Just keep an eye on him," Beauchamp replied. "I'm sure it'll pass without too much incident."

"I'll let Severus know, he is his Head of House..."

"Oh, don't bother- he already knows. He was the one that confirmed my suspicions, actually. Poor bloke, last thing I'd want to have to listen to is a barrage of adolescent woes, cloaked in poorly hidden subtext. I don't know how you Heads manage it!"

Harry walked quickly away before he heard anything else, as he had heard quite enough for one day, thank you. The very thought of the words 'Draco', 'preoccupied' and 'Hermione' being strung together in the same sentence, well, he did not like the sound of it one little bit. He rushed up to Hermione, who was engaged in polite conversation with Lavender Brown.

"Hermione," he breathed, "can I have a word? In private?"

Lavender giggled, said goodbye to Hermione and walked off almost instantly. Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation at her, but as she had turned away, she did not see. Hermione, however, did.

"Harry? What's the matter?" she asked. He looked straight at her.

"Hermione, I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth."

"Okay," she replied, in a wary voice.

"What's going on with you and Draco?"

Hermione spluttered with laughter.

"What?" she asked, apparently highly amused by the notion. Harry exhaled sharply.

"I'm not suggesting that!" he replied, "I mean, him talking to you in the changing rooms earlier. What was it all about?"

Hermione avoided his gaze and turned a deep shade of red.

"Harry, it's nothing to worry about, honestly..."

"Then tell me!"

"It's... well, it's really embarrassing, to tell you the truth."

"Hermione, I'm your best friend, in case you had forgotten!"

She looked at him, and sighed.

"All right, but you've got to promise not to tell anyone, not even Ron."

"Promise."

"It happened in the library."

"What did?"

"What Malfoy did..."

Harry felt himself colour up in anger.

"What did he do?" he half asked, half demanded, "Did he call you something dreadful? Did he hurt you? Curse you?"

"He kissed me."

"Did he..." Harry paused for a moment, wondering if his ears needed checking.

"Pardon?" he asked. Hermione sighed in irritation.

"I said, he kissed me," she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Who did?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy."

"Malfoy did what?" Harry asked again, in bewilderment.

"Oh, for heaven's sake get a grip, Harry!" she replied, sharply.

Harry had to fight the urge to laugh. It didn't make any sense.

"Why?" he managed to ask, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. Hermione shrugged.

"How should I know?" she snapped.

"Well," Harry said, tentatively, "you were there at the time."

Hermione sighed.

"I haven't got a clue. It happened in the library when I was trying to look up the Beauchamps', and all I know is that he begged me not to tell anyone, and I promised I wouldn't. It's hardly like I want anyone to know about it anyway," she confessed.

Harry sighed angrily.

"So that's why you haven't been to the library on your own!"

Hermione looked at him oddly.

"Well, would you?"

Harry could see her point.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, suddenly curious. "Did you curse him? Or slap him like you did in third year?" His eyes narrowed for a moment. "You didn't kiss him back, did you?" he asked suspiciously. Hermione laughed.

"Of course not!"

There was a pause.

"I kind of did none of those things."

"Well, what did you do, then?" Harry asked. Hermione looked at the floor.

"I sort of, stood there, hoping he'd go away," she said, quietly. Harry eyed her incredulously, at which her eyes widened.

"I thought he'd gone insane!" she exclaimed. "You know what they say- don't make any sudden movement or eye contact..."

Harry felt a sudden surge of anger.

"That git! Just wait'll I get my hands on him," he spat, storming off with the intention to find Draco and perform more hexes on him than he even knew existed. Maybe he could remember that 'reverse flow' one Beauchamp used on Snape...

All his thoughts of revenge were for nought, though, as Hermione swiftly grabbed his arm.

"Harry, are you channelling Ron or something? You aren't supposed to know. He made me promise, and I think he feels ashamed enough about the whole incident. Can't you just drop it?" she pleaded. Harry made to argue with her, but the look on her face softened him.

"Okay, okay," he managed finally, "I'll leave it. But the second he so much as glances at you..."

"Fine, that'll do for me. Listen." She changed the subject with such speed; Harry was shocked out of his anger.

"Hmm?"

"Would you come with me to the library? I'd quite like to continue researching Beauchamp and her mysterious missing memories. You never know, if we can find those European records, it might help her with her cure, if they state what caused her memory loss."

Harry sighed. Going to the library straight after a lesson wasn't his idea of fun, but having forced Hermione to tell him what she had, he felt guilty enough to agree.

"...And nothing in the Bulgarian records- perhaps they'll be in the French ones..."

Hermione was flicking adeptly through a stack of hospital records, looking for a 'Beauchamp, P.' but apparently without much success. Or, to put in more accurately, too much success to be of any use. There were literally thousands of Beauchamps in France, according to the records Hermione was perusing. There had been a moment when she had excitedly grabbed Harry's arm so hard, he was sure she would leave bruises, but her excitement waned when she saw the first name was 'Porphyria'.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, in a whisper. "Porphyria was Beauchamp's aunt. She told me during an Occlumency lesson when I saw one of her memories."

Hermione looked vaguely interested.

"Well, if she has records in France, it's likely that Professor Beauchamp must do too..."

Harry, meanwhile, was busy looking through a selection of back copies of the Daily Prophet, seeing if he could find any mention of that daughter of Snape's. He finally came across a paper dated 1st November 1981, which bore the headline 'The Boy Who Lived! You-Know-Who is No More!'. He glanced swiftly over the page, not really wanting to read about how his parents 'tragically died at the hands of You-Know-Who' nor how 'their little boy somehow survived, killing him in the process'. He cared even less that Nigel Davenport of Avesbury believed that Voldemort had perished due to the one-year old Harry having used an ancient and dark curse upon him that no other wizard had even attempted since 1872.

"People are stupid," Harry muttered under his breath, before finishing the article and seeing at least seventy-two references to brave Harry and not one reference to the six-year-old girl that died in Godric's Hollow.

Putting it back in the correct slot in the never-ending drawer that contained the back issues (Harry noticed the drawer was indeed never-ending when he tugged hard at it to make it open, and it flung him halfway across the library as the drawer tried to extend out into the corridor), Harry's attention was caught by another article, dated a month later.

'Mystery Girl Awakes From Coma!' screamed the headline, though Harry had to turn to page nine to get the full story. What he read stunned him.

"Hermione!" he hissed, getting her attention, "Listen to this!"

"What is it?" she asked, looking up at him from her record list. Harry cleared his throat.

"It says here that a young girl, who cannot be named for legal reasons, suddenly awoke from a coma on the 30th November 1981. They asked the healer in charge, and she believed that the girl had shown all the effects of having been hit with the Killing Curse..."

"But that's ridiculous!" Hermione spluttered. "She'd be dead!"

"That's what the Daily Prophet says," Harry replied. "Made the healer out to be a right basket-case... Anyway, she says..." Harry cleared his throat again to read out the passage. "'...the girl was stone cold dead, and we had been preparing her body for her funeral that past month, as per the ritual of Draconis- we were told that she came from one of those sorts of families. I was about to head up to the mausoleum in order to place her into her coffin, when I heard a terrible scream. Anyways, I ran up the stairs, in the direction of the noise. It was coming from the mausoleum. I opened the door, and that little dead girl, whose body I had been watching over for the past month, was sat up in bed, looking around in utter horror. I nearly fainted on the spot, but the little girl looked at me and asked, 'Where am I?' so I told her, you're in the hospital- didn't want to frighten her by mentioning we were about to bury her in half an hour. She nodded quietly, then said 'I'm hungry. Could I trouble you for a sandwich?', calm as you like. I nodded, and went to make probably the strangest sandwich I had ever heard of: horseradish...'"

Harry heard a sudden crash, and he heard Hermione swear for the first time ever. She had knocked over the St. Mungo's record cards she had been re-examining for the fifth time.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, dropping to her knees to pick up the cards. "Now they're all in the wrong order..."

She continued to grumble, mentioning that she had found an 'S', even though she was looking at the 'B' section, when she suddenly let out a gasp.

"Oh look! There's an admission for Snape," she pointed out to Harry, who laughed.

"I wonder what he spent time in St. Mungo's for?" he wondered aloud. Hermione quelled his imagination by a simple tut.

"No, it's not Professor Snape, this entry is for a P. Snape, not an S. Snape..." she suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" Harry asked. Hermione frowned.

"Do you know when the first new moon after October 31st 1981 was?" she asked. Puzzled by such a statement, he leant over to the Almanac on Madam Pince's desk and flicked a few dozen pages back.

"30th November," he replied, "Why?"

Hermione gestured for him to read the record card in her hand, so Harry complied, leaning over her shoulder to read it.

Miss P. Snape:

DoB: 22/08/1975

Admitted: 00:31, 01/11/1981

Pronounced Dead: 00:31, 01/11/1981

Cause of death: Killing Curse, instant.

Additional Notes:

01/11/1981- Ritual of Draconis performed. Relatives kept away from the body until the burial at the next new moon.

12/11/1981- Asphodel flowers left for her by an unnamed man; placed them in her hands to complete requested ritual.

30/11/1981- Patient screamed, got out of bed and complained that she was hungry. I asked her if she knew who she was and she said her name was Persephone. That was all I managed to get out of her, she appears to have forgotten everything. Gave her a sandwich, and she appears absolutely fine and unharmed, save for the amnesia. Have contacted listed next of kin, Mrs. P. Beauchamp is on her way to collect her. Recommend course of memory therapy, most unusual case indeed!

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock.

"So... so that means," Hermione managed to stumble. Harry said nothing; he merely sat down on the cold stone floor where he stood.

"Professor Beauchamp, Miss P. Snape, they're one and the same!" she exclaimed. Harry let out a sigh.

"She's Snape's dead daughter, the one who meant he would never return to Voldemort," he finished. Hermione clucked.

"Well, how many other children can he have knocking about?" she asked rhetorically.

"I really don't want to think about it," Harry replied, "Snape reproducing? That has to be bad news. Who was the lucky lady?" he asked, with a hint of a sneer. Hermione shrugged.

"Doesn't mention any woman, except for Porphyria," she replied. "Oh, Harry, do you think she knows?"

Harry looked down at the record card. He doubted very much that she knew, and doubted even more so that she'd be pleased her own father was a Death Eater.

Chapter Eighteen: Beauchamp's Secrets

By the time Harry got to the common room, Ron had clearly been there for hours, and everyone else had gone to dinner.

"You took your time, where have you been?" he demanded of Harry. "It can't have taken you that long to tie your shoelaces. Now if you were Crabbe or Goyle, I'd understand..."

"We've found out something. About Professor Beauchamp," Harry explained. "Oh, and Professor Snape, I suppose..."

Ron looked aghast.

"Luna wasn't right, was she?"

"Huh?"

"About them, you know... seeing each other?"

Hermione frowned.

"Have you been reading my copy of 'An Awfully Big Adventure'?" she asked. Harry didn't have a clue what she was going on about, and judging by the look on Ron's face, he was equally baffled. Hermione merely tutted.

"Professor Beauchamp. She's Snape's daughter," she announced. Ron looked more baffled than when Hermione had asked him whether he had been reading her books.

"How's that possible? She's dead!"

"Who, Beauchamp?"

"No, Snape's daughter. Killed by... by Voldemort," Ron breathed heavily. This having been the first time Harry noticed Ron call Voldemort by name, he was deeply impressed.

"She got better, I guess," Harry replied, and proceeded to tell Ron the story that he and Hermione had pieced together in the library. When he had finished, Ron looked positively green with horror.

"So," he reiterated, "Beauchamp can't remember anything before waking up in a hospital bed at the age of six, where she knew her first name, but nothing else. She had ended up in that hospital bed because she had been hit with the Killing Curse in Godric's Hollow a month previously, where she was being hidden by Harry's mum to protect her from any Death Eaters' who might have found out about Snape spying?"

"That's about the shape of it," Harry replied. Ron continued to look horrified.

"You know what this means, don't you?" he said, quietly. Both Harry and Hermione looked at him.

"No, what?" he asked. Ron's face broke into a small grin.

"My brother fancies Snape's daughter!" He began to laugh. "How twisted is that?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Ron, how is that important?" she snapped. Ron widened his eyes at her.

"It's very important! If only I could tell him..." he trailed off, clearly regretful that he had to keep quiet about the whole affair.

"There's Dean too, he thought she was reasonably cute," Harry added, unable to resist sniggering. Hermione gave them both a reproachful look.

"Have either of you thought about what we should do?" she barked. Ron shrugged.

"What do you mean?"

"Should we tell her?" she asked, in an altogether softer tone of voice.

"About Snape? Why would she want to know?" Harry asked, nastily. He couldn't help but think that, were he in the unenviable position of having Snape as a parent, he would rather not know about it.

"Harry's got a point," Ron added. "Sometimes, ignorance is bliss."

Hermione sat down in a chair, and rested her chin on her hands.

"Oh, this is just awful!" she moaned. "I know we shouldn't say anything, but just think of poor Snape!"

Harry saw Ron look askance at Hermione, and found himself staring at her in much the same way.

"Poor Snape?" Harry asked, incredulously. "What do you mean, 'poor Snape'?"

"Poor, my arse!" Ron added, whilst folding his arms sulkily. "He's a git!"

"He's a git," Hermione sighed, "that's been grieving someone who isn't actually dead."

Harry suddenly thought of something. The memory of Beauchamp's he had seen during their last Occlumency lesson before the Christmas holidays, where Karkaroff had been arguing with Porphyria, whom Beauchamp referred to as her aunt...

"Why was she was the next of kin on the St. Mungo's record, and not Snape?" he asked, having quickly told Ron and Hermione of the memory he had seen. Hermione frowned.

"She must have known Professor Beauchamp was Snape's daughter, why didn't she tell anyone?"

Ron shrugged.

"Beats me. Here, Harry, didn't you say Karkaroff told this Porphyria that he knew tales of her brother that would make her hair curl?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, quietly, "I guess she's his sister. If her surname's Beauchamp, I suppose she married."

Hermione clicked her fingers.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. Ron looked up at her.

"What?" he asked. Hermione sighed.

"I've just thought- Dumbledore didn't really believe Voldemort had gone for good, right?"

"Yeah, so?" Ron retorted.

"Well, suppose Beauchamp's Aunt Porphyria thought the same thing. I expect rekindling the link between the ex-Death Eater and the daughter would be the last thing you'd want to do if you were in her position. If Snape thought she was dead, and Beauchamp couldn't remember her father, it would be easy to keep it that way, and thus keep them both out of harm's way," she explained. Harry couldn't help but be impressed.

"For fifteen seconds worth of thinking, that's a pretty good suggestion," he replied. Ron snorted.

"Assuming, of course, that Snape's sister knew what her brother was up to," he replied. Harry shook his head.

"From what I saw of her in Beauchamp's memory, I don't think you'd run the risk of her finding out through other sources. She had a fierce temper on her," he replied.

"There's just one other thing that doesn't make any sense," Ron added, his brow furrowed in thought.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Your mum. What has she got to do with all this? Dumbledore said she was Beauchamp's Secret Keeper, but why bother if she had an aunt who was clearly more than capable of looking after her?"

Harry shrugged. Hermione looked up at them.

"I suppose if Voldemort or any Death Eaters found out what he was doing, they would most likely come after his family. Porphyria's relation to him doesn't seem like a secret. I'd imagine your mum wasn't known to be a friend of his- she'd be perfect. I mean, who would suspect she was looking after Snape's daughter, of all people?" she said, looking at Harry.

"True, especially seeing as he and my dad hated each other," he agreed.

Suddenly, Ginny and Dean came blundering into the common room.

"Hey, are you guys coming to dinner?" Ginny asked, looking red in the face. Hermione got up out of her chair.

"Yes, we are, Ginny- could we have a word first?" she asked, taking Ginny's arm in her own and walking them both out of the common room.

"Ooh, who's being secretive!" Ron goaded as the two left. He looked at Harry.

"Wonder what that's all about?" he commented. Harry shrugged.

"No idea," he lied. He was fairly certain it had something to do with Draco, the library and Harry having found out about it, but he daren't tell Ron. Not only had Hermione made him promise not to, but he also has a fairly vivid mental image of what Ron would do if he did find out, and Harry was pretty certain it would get him expelled. Instead, he got up and followed Dean and Ron to the Great Hall for dinner.

Potions class the next morning was an expected disaster. Harry couldn't concentrate on a thing. Snape was being his usual contemptible self, docking house points from Gryffindor because Harry kept staring into space during his introduction to Aging potions. He was grateful when the practical work started, for he had come very close to blurting out in the middle of class the story of Snape and his daughter, courtesy of Steve, the savage brain area. As he ground his poppy seeds, he began to accept he could do nothing but hate the man, and concentrated on imagining the seeds in his pestle and mortar were his Potions professor.

Crack! Harry dealt his seeds a blow with a deft thrust of his right wrist.

"Miss Bones, you're dissecting the spleen from a murtlap, not preparing blowfish..."

Crunch!

"Mr. Macmillan, it's been said that humans only use around five percent of their brain matter at any one time, and in your case I suspect that number is much lower- your potion is supposed to be green and viscous at this stage, not red and watery..."

Crunch!

"Ah, Draco, excellent work..."

Harry's poppy seeds nearly flew out of his pestle and mortar from the force at which he tried to crush the remaining seeds.

"Ow, watch it, Harry!" Ron hissed, as a few seeds hit him in the eye.

"Sorry," Harry whispered back, scooping any other wayward seeds back into his hand and throwing them in the cauldron.

"Right, what's next?" Ron looked up at the board. "Hellebore, I think- No, wait..."

Harry haphazardly threw a handful of hellebore leaves into their cauldron, which made an odd hissing sound on contact with the solution already present. Ron sighed.

"We're supposed to stir it seven times in an anti-clockwise direction first," he explained. Harry found himself shrugging in apathy.

"Oh well, who cares," he replied. Ron looked at him as though he had just gone mad, and began to cough loudly. Harry ignored it.

"What? It's just Potions! Since when have we ever given a toss? We'll get lousy marks whatever we do."

Ron looked more agitated, and coughed some more, looking at Harry with widening eyes.

"I wonder what Malfoy does that gets him such good marks- maybe Snape is trying to appease his father? Perhaps he pays him off, or something," he continued, Steve dominating over the proceedings in his head.

Ron continued to stare at him, wildly.

"The greasy old f..." Harry continued, until Ron interrupted him.

"Harry!" he hissed at him. Too late, he realised why.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?" Harry more stated than asked, whilst turning around to face his Potions Professor, who looked angrier than Harry could ever have imagined.

"Morning, sir," Harry said defiantly, looking straight at Snape without actually making eye contact, fully aware of Snape's Legilmency skills. The hook-nosed man glared at him ferociously.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he asked, in a voice far too calm to be sane. Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"Making an Aging Potion, sir," he replied, glaring back at him. Snape's lip curled in contempt.

"Then you won't mind me asking why you are throwing ingredients into your cauldron as though you are making a casserole!" he spat. Harry looked mutinously at him.

"Same reason I did this," he replied, grabbing a bottle of hanabi essence and attempting to pour it into the hissing solution of his cauldron. Snape looked alarmed, then grabbed Harry's wrist deftly, wrenching the bottle clean from his hands. He put it down and grabbed Harry roughly by the collar of his robes.

"What do you think you're doing, you stupid boy!" he snarled, baring his yellowing teeth.

"Like I said..."

"Detention. My office. Tonight," he replied, in little more than a whisper. Harry nearly rolled his eyes, but on seeing Snape's murderous glare, managed to control himself.

He was saved from Snape's full wrath when the door to his classroom swung open, and he saw Professor Beauchamp was standing in the doorway. She gave a little cough, and Snape looked up at her.

"Good morning, Professor," he said, seeming to forget about Harry and striding towards the door.

"Good morning," Beauchamp replied, looking a little paler than usual, Harry thought. As his desk was fairly close to the classroom door, he managed to catch their whispered conversation.

"I take it the potion didn't work- you'll be wanting to try it with Rhodiola rosea? I must say you could pick more convenient times to ask me than during the middle of my..."

Beauchamp hushed him.

"No, Severus, the potion worked fine. I woke up this morning, and could remember everything. That's why I'm here."

Snape looked nonplussed. Beauchamp rolled her eyes a little.

"I need to talk to you," she explained. Snape looked up at her.

"Well, go on then," he replied, with some impatience. Beauchamp looked up and made eye contact with Harry, who quickly pretended to be enthralled by his belladonna roots.

"Not right now- I think we ought to discuss it in private, after your lesson. I'll wait," she replied, conjuring up a reclining chair and sitting down on it. Snape visibly sighed with irritation, and went back to watching over his class like a particularly hungry bird of prey.

Having calmed down, Harry apologised to Ron and attempted to fix the damage he had done to their potion. Sadly, it was all for nought, though they did managed to get it the correct colour. The problem was that generally, one should be able to scoop up a potion with a ladle into a goblet, rather than pulling the ladle out of a cauldron with the entire potion stuck to it like a grim imitation toffee apple. Harry tried to fit the solid mass into a flask with little joy, so instead he chipped off a sizeable amount of the potion and managed to jam it into the neck of the flask, before putting it on Snape's desk and leaving without so much as a sideways glance at him. Not that Snape was paying him much attention, for Harry noticed he was busy ushering Beauchamp out of his classroom as well.

"My office, Professor?" he offered, holding the door open for an agitated Beauchamp to walk through.

Hermione glared at him as he left Snape's classroom.

"Honestly, Harry!" she exclaimed. "What were you trying to do?"

"You're beginning to sound like Snape," Harry muttered, before trying to push past her. Hermione grabbed his arm swiftly.

"Hanabi essence is really flammable- if you'd dropped some into your cauldron with all those ingredients, it would have blown the classroom up!"

Harry shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he muttered, "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Well, I had just about noticed that," she replied, but her tone of voice was softer.

"Yeah, mate," Ron added, having just entered the conversation. "What was up with you back there?"

"I dunno, he just makes me so angry!" Harry replied, clenching his teeth through the last three words.

"We've got Charms next- old Flitwick can't possibly make you angry," Ron said with a smile. Harry exhaled loudly.

"That's true."

"I wonder what Beauchamp wanted to see Snape about?" Hermione mused. Ron shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't be all that important, they're teachers," he answered, blithely. Harry shook his head.

"I heard Beauchamp tell him the last potion worked, and she has her memory back. I think we all know what they're going to be discussing."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Oh, how awful for them both!" she exclaimed. Ron smirked.

"How awful for Beauchamp, you mean. Imagine waking up to remember Snape's your father!" he retorted, albeit in hushed tones.

"Wonder how they'll both take it?" Harry thought aloud.

After their Charms lesson, Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

"Goodness, look at the time," Hermione said, glancing at her watch as they walked. "I hope we're not too late!"

"We won't be," Ron replied, "we've got to dinner later than this before."

On entering the Hall, they saw Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table with Luna standing next to her, apparently deep in conversation. Dean, Neville and Seamus were sat on one side, with Lavender and Pavarti on the other.

"Hi," Harry offered to the congregation sitting at the table. They acknowledged his greeting with one of their own.

"How was Potions?" Neville asked. He seemed to rather enjoy Harry and Ron's accounts of Potions class now that he was no longer taking the subject. Harry groaned.

"Harry nearly blew up the classroom," Hermione remarked.

"It could have happened to anyone," Harry retorted, and proceeded to tell Neville about his and Ron's solidified Aging Potion, which he had scraped into a flask to increase the probability of Snape marking it. Neville and Dean seemed to find this hilarious. Ginny, however, merely turned to face him and said.

"Oh, so maybe that's why we didn't have Snape for Potions today."

"Huh?" Ron managed, through a mouthful of Shepherd's Pie.

"Well," Ginny explained, "we trouped down to the dungeons, only to find Snape's classroom locked. We waited ages. Eventually, we gave up, and went to leave, but then McGonagall rushed down the stairs, apologising for the delay, but she would have to cover our lesson for today. I hope you didn't annoy Snape so much that he had an aneurysm, Harry," she joked.

Luna suddenly turned her head to face Harry and Ginny.

"That was what happened in our Potions lesson this afternoon, too- not the aneurysm bit, though. Professor Flitwick covered it. There were a few moments when I thought he might fall into Snape's cauldron during the demonstration," she giggled.

Harry was about to protest that he had nothing to do with Snape's absence from lessons, when he heard Dennis Creevey excitedly chatting to his brother Colin.

"Well, she wasn't there today, so we had Dumbledore take our lesson instead! It was brill!"

"Wow, you had Dumbledore for Defence!" Colin asked, clearly impressed.

Hermione put her fork down quietly.

"Well, that explains that mystery," she commented. Harry and Ron looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, they've obviously got a lot to talk about," she replied, pointing surreptitiously at the High Table, where Snape and Beauchamp were conspicuous by their absence. The other professors seemed to have noticed their disappearance as well, for there were plenty of curious glances at the empty seats and concealed whispering. Only Dumbledore appeared immune; he was engrossed in a letter, his expression becoming increasingly troubled as he read.

Ginny looked across at Hermione and sighed.

"So, it's true then?" she asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yep, it's true."

"What's true?" Neville asked. Hermione, Ron and Harry exchanged worried glances. Neville grinned.

"Oh, I see- one of your many little secrets. It's okay," he added, before they could protest, "I think some of your secrets should probably remain unknown to us."

Dean sniggered into his pumpkin juice, and Neville tried and failed to keep a smile off his face. Ron looked at them blankly.

"What are you two on about?" he asked. They looked at each other.

"Oh, just that me and Dean know you're very close-knit friends..."

Dean couldn't contain himself, and began to properly laugh at Neville's comments. Harry eyed them both suspiciously.

"Are you two okay?" he asked. They nodded.

"Fine, fine... really, don't worry about it Harry- ask us no questions and we'll ask you none in return," Dean replied. Hermione rolled her eyes and continued to at her apple crumble. Harry was halfway through his before he realised the time.

"Damn! I've got to go to Snape's detention," he announced, stuffing as much pudding as he could into his mouth. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.

"What did you do?" she asked, cynically. Harry shrugged.

"Told you- I nearly blew up the classroom. Accidentally on purpose. So, detention," he replied. Ginny looked up at him.

"How can you accidentally on purpose nearly blow up a classroom?"

"Well, I tried to tip something into my cauldron that I shouldn't have, and Snape went nuts and gave me a detention. Turns out the thing I tried to tip in it would have blown up the classroom if I'd succeeded. I didn't know," he said, looking at Hermione, who appeared to believe him. "I just wanted to annoy him."

"And now you get to annoy him for a whole evening," Ginny remarked, sarcastically. Harry looked back at her.

"Yeah, yeah- I admit my plan was flawed," he replied, before swallowing one last mouthful of pudding, standing up and heading towards the dungeons to Snape's office.

It felt colder down in the dungeons than Harry thought it had ever been before, as he dawdled down to Snape's office at a speed that ensured he was procrastinating over attending his detention, but wouldn't actually end up late and thus incur yet another punishment.

Snape's office door was shut. Harry thought this odd- usually if he was expecting a student to attend a detention he had set, he would leave the door open. Unless he had gone off somewhere, in which case Harry had no choice but to wait. He briefly considered just leaving, and commenting to Snape that if he can't keep his appointments, then why should he, when he suddenly heard raised voices from behind the door.

"What?" a female voice sounding familiar to Harry said, incredulously. He quickly identified it as being Beauchamp. He heard Snape mutter something that Harry couldn't make out, owing to the thickness of the door.

"You can't not tell him!" Beauchamp shouted, in disbelief. "He has to know- if it was me, I'd want to know."

"Of course- and how exactly do you propose I tell the boy? In case you hadn't noticed we share a certain animosity... You'll have to do it."

"Me?" Beauchamp sounded indignant. "Why me? He's going to go nuts, and it isn't like this is in any way, shape or form my fault. It's all down to you. And her."

She sounded slightly contemptuous of Snape's suggestion, whatever it was.

"If you told him, it would be far less of a slap in the face than if I did," he explained, though there was vexation in his voice.

"You coward!" she spat.

"Coward nothing, it's the truth, and you know it," he replied, though his voice sounded more tired. Harry heard a loud sigh.

"Fine. You're right, annoyingly, but I'm still not happy about doing your dirty work."

"I appreciate your concern..." Snape tried to reason, but was interrupted by Beauchamp.

"Well, I just hope the major heart attack he has when I share this with him is an amusing one!" she ranted.

In his puzzlement over the exchange he had just heard, Harry almost forgot to knock on the door. Quietly, he rapped his knuckles on the door to Snape's office, and heard an angry, "Who the devil is that?" followed by the creak of a chair, and footsteps stalking towards the door. It opened with a sudden movement and a rush of cold air. Snape looked more sallow than usual, and tired. He glanced at Harry, and his eyebrows met at the centre of his forehead as he frowned.

"What do you want, Potter?" he demanded.

"I came for my detention," he replied, as inoffensively as he could. Snape glared at him coldly.

"I'm busy. Come back tomorrow," he ordered.

"But, sir..."

"Do as I say, Potter!" he practically roared, before slamming the door in his face. Harry stared at the wrought iron work adorning the heavy oak door for a moment.

"Well," he said to nobody in particular, "I'll just be going then."

He turned to find the stairs to the ground floor, when he had his second unpleasant meeting of the day.

Draco Malfoy.

"Watch it, Potter," he sneered, as they collided with each other.

"Watch it yourself, Malfoy," Harry retorted, trying very hard not to belt him across the face with his right hand, which was now balled into a fist.

"What are you doing down here anyway, Potter? Remedial Potions again?" He shook his head. "How you got onto Professor Snape's Potions course is beyond me..."

"Not that's it's any of your business," Harry replied, "but seeing as you seem so interested in my life- I went to a detention that didn't happen."

Draco looked surprised, but said nothing. He walked past Harry towards Snape's office.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you, he's busy," Harry shouted after him. Draco took no notice, and Harry was treated to the rare sight of Snape shouting at Draco, and slamming his office door for the second time in five minutes.

"Told you," Harry shouted back to a stunned Draco, before ascending the staircase to the ground floor.

He reached the second floor and the staircase moved suddenly, making his usual path to the Gryffindor tower impossible so he backtracked down the corridor to find another stairway, passing the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office as he did so. He heard footsteps behind him, and voices that sounded familiar to him.

"... Porphyria, please remain calm for a moment..."

"Calm," the woman replied, savagely, "calm! How can I remain calm, Professor," she hissed, "when the only blood family I have left are suddenly in grave danger! All because of a potion- she really doesn't know when to leave things alone! If she hadn't owled me asking about these new memories, I wouldn't even know! I'm just relieved you replied to my owl so quickly..."

Harry recognised the woman's voice, and turned around to get a look at her. He recognised the pinned back dark hair, hooked nose and tanned skin of Beauchamp's aunt staring back at him.

"What is it, boy?" he snapped at him, and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Porphyria, please," Dumbledore soothed, trying to placate her. "It's quite alright; hello, Harry," he said to Harry, who smiled.

"Hello, sir," he replied. "The staircase moved..." He began to explain, but Dumbledore held his hand out to quieten him.

"Please, you don't have to explain why you are walking around in your school." He smiled. "This is Porphyria Beauchamp- she's an alumnus of Hogwarts."

The woman appeared to have composed herself, for she managed a smile and greeted Harry civilly. Harry said hello back, though he couldn't shake off how similar she looked to Snape in the flesh, except older and darker.

"Harry, I heard from your friends earlier that you were supposed to have a detention with Professor Snape- has it finished already?" Dumbledore asked. Harry looked up at him.

"He postponed it. He's busy at the moment- I think he might be talking to Professor Beauchamp. It's all rather odd, he's usually very particular about these things," he added, hoping it would make him appear more like someone who didn't know anything about the relationship between Snape and the two Beauchamps. Porphyria frowned at him, and Harry thought it best to run along and find a staircase that would take him to the Gryffindor common room. As he walked away, he could hear Porphyria Beauchamp's distinctive voice.

"I would be happy to stay here overnight if you think they aren't ready to talk to me, Albus. My husband Francois will be arriving shortly, though..."

"Accommodating him won't be a problem, Porphyria. We just want to get things sorted out for everyone involved," Dumbledore replied, before their voices were lost in the distance Harry had put between them as he raced up the stairs to his common room. 


	10. Chapter 10

Summary: Porphyria and Francois descend upon Hogwarts, the DA have their reunion meeting in the Hogs Head, Harry finds out a plethora of things he could well have done without knowing and Hermione's curiosity is piqued. Again.

Chapter Nineteen: Snape's Confession

The next day at breakfast, both Ron and Hermione were craning their necks, trying to see if the mysterious Porphyria Beauchamp would make an appearance. Harry had told them exactly what he had witnessed from the moment Snape had slammed his office door in Harry's face, unceremoniously postponing their detention.

"That sounds well weird, a female Snape?" Ron commented in mild horror.

"She's even got his nose," Harry replied, spooning porridge into his mouth. Ron made a face, and went back to eating his plate of eggs and bacon.

"And she said her husband was coming here too?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"Yep. Fran?ois Beauchamp," he embellished. Hermione looked agitated.

"She must be so worried," she said to nobody in particular. Ron looked up at her mid-chew, with an odd expression on his face.

"Why?" he asked, after swallowing his food.

"Because of all the trouble people went to keep Professor Beauchamp's link to Snape hidden from everyone," Hermione explained. "There must have been a good reason for it, and I imagine it had something to do with Voldemort. Now he's back..."

"He's a threat to them both," Harry finihed.

Soon after, Ginny and Dean joined them, cutting their conversation short.

"Hi, guys," Ginny said, "Ready for the DA reunion this afternoon?"

"The Hog's Head at two o'clock, we know," Ron replied. Despite the seedy reputation and numerous eavesdroppers lurking in said establishment, it seemed fitting to hold the DA reunion in the same place it had begun. Hermione stirred her porridge absently before beginning to eat it.

"It'll be nice to see how everyone's been getting on- I mean, we don't get to see everyone who was a member every single day," she replied.

"Oh, Beauchamp knows about it, by the way," Harry suddenly added. Hermione dropped her spoon with a clatter.

"What?" she exclaimed.

"I didn't tell her, but she found out during one of my Occlumency lessons," he replied.

"How did she take it?" Ron asked, though a mouthful of bacon. Harry shrugged.

"She thought it was a pretty good idea- and she wasn't surprised it was yours, Hermione. Maybe you come across as more rebellious than you think," he embellished. Hermione frowned and returned to her porridge.

"Hang about," Ron said, nudging Harry. "You know what they say- 'speak of the Devil' and all..."

Professor Beauchamp had entered the Great Hall, though not with her customary purposeful strides. She seemed altogether more lethargic than usual as she made her way up to the staff table. Harry watched her grab a slice of toast and wolf it down. McGonagall put a hand gently on her shoulder, which Beauchamp patted gratefully. The two entered into a whispered conversation which the rest of the staff failed to notice, though Harry was certain he saw Beauchamp's mouth form the words 'I just needed to get out of there, they're all driving me nuts!' at one point. McGonagall smiled sympathetically, before patting her on the back. Beauchamp stretched her arms out behind her back, jutting her chest forward, before rolling her shoulders a couple of times, and striding back out of the Great Hall, as though preparing for battle. Harry sniggered as he saw her collide with Draco, who had also come down to the Great Hall in search of breakfast, and nearly sent him flying. Draco turned to glare at Harry, then dropped his look completely when Hermione turned to face him.

"Wow, you've really got him running scared," Harry whispered to Hermione, whilst Ron was in deep conversation with a yawning Dean about how getting up this early was nothing, as he and Harry were getting up at half past five in the morning twice a week in order to do Quidditch practise. Hermione snorted.

"Well, that's what you get for minding your own business in a library," she replied, sarcastically. Harry couldn't help but grin.

"Except you weren't, really- you were looking up Beauchamp's medical files," he said, blithely. Hermione glared at him, but soon smiled.

"You say it as though you wouldn't have been doing the same," she retorted, and the two laughed.

Ron looked up at them.

"Oi, what are you two sniggering about?" he demanded. Harry grinned,

"Oh, nothing important," he replied. Ron studied them for a moment, shrugged, and returned to finish off his breakfast.

The walk for Hogwarts to the village of Hogsmeade was uneventful, if you ignore the new device that had been added last September. It consisted of a magical line that stretched across the path every student had to cross to exit the Hogwarts grounds to Hogsmeade, and two blackboards, one either side of the gateposts. One bore the legend 'In' written at the top in white, and a list of students' names, the other had the word 'Out', followed by a list of different students' names. Harry crossed the line, and saw his name disappear from the 'In' headed blackboard and appear on the 'Out' headed blackboard instantaneously.

"The line is charmed to recognise when each of us crosses it, and the blackboards convey information as to all the students' whereabouts. Each of the heads of house have one in their offices too, so they can monitor where each of us are- I saw one in McGonagall's office the other day," Hermione explained.

"What do they think we're going to do out here?" Harry asked. Hermione sighed.

"I don't think it's what we're going to do that worries them. It's more what other wizards and witches might do to us, I think," she replied. Ron kicked a stone along the path.

"Just stepping up the security," he commented. "I reckon it won't be long before Hogsmeade weekends are cancelled altogether."

As they approached Hogsmeade, Harry noticed there were less students milling around than there usually were. He assumed since the rise of Voldemort, fewer parents were giving their children permission to leave the relatively safe grounds of Hogwarts. Looking at his watch, he realised that he, Ron and Hermione were late for their rendezvous with the rest of the DA, so they hurried to the Hog's Head.

Most of the DA were already there, tucked away in an unobtrusive corner of the pub, mockingly tapping their watches as the three entered.

"Tut, tut, what have you three been up to?" Dean questioned, amidst Neville's laughter. Ginny slapped Dean on the shoulder disdainfully.

"Ignore them," she said to Ron, "They're just being deeply silly."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged curious glances, then sat down next to Ginny, Luna and Hannah. Everyone sat round the pushed together tables looked at Harry expectantly. Harry felt himself blush furiously. He glanced around the tables, and saw no sign of Cho.

"Maybe we ought to wait a few minutes, there are some people..."

He was about to say "missing," but the door of the pub creaked open, and a small, dark haired Ravenclaw entered the establishment and sat down as far away from Harry as she physically could, next to Michael Corner, who smiled at her.

"Right," Harry found himself saying, "Now we're all here, I guess I'd just like to say well done. I'm guessing everyone who took O.W.L.s last year got really good results in Defence Against the Dark Arts last year, because even Professor Beauchamp commented on how some of the marks were so much better than the others. Truth be told, I think she's got a fair idea of what we did," he remarked, knowing the latter to be true, having been grilled about the DA by Beauchamp after one of his Occlumency lessons. The congregation grinned at each other.

"Well, I suppose she is a little perceptive, for such a young teacher," Zacharias Smith added, sniffily. Hannah glared at him.

"Oh, honestly, Zack!" She turned to the rest of the group. "He's been like this ever since she started. I know some of her methods are... unconventional, but she's proven herself to be ten times better than Umbridge!"

"Well, she lets us practise defence, for a start," Seamus quipped, causing the group to laugh.

Suddenly, Harry found his attention distracted from the discussion going on around him. The door to the Hog's Head had opened, and a middle-aged couple walked in. The man was tall and had brown hair that flopped into his eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He was dressed in robes of brilliant blue and white and gave off a distinct aura of suaveness, arrogance, sophistication and, well... Frenchness. He held the door open for the dark haired woman dressed in deep blue velvet robes, whom Harry instantly recognised from her hook-nosed profile as being Porphyria Beauchamp. The gentleman ordering two large glasses of vintage red wine must be her husband Fran?ois.

Harry surreptitiously watched the two sit down at a table that was far away from him, yet close enough that he could make out their conversation, which at the moment was entirely in French, so Harry couldn't understand a word. Eventually, with their heads lowered to each other, Harry heard Francois Beauchamp speak.

"... Non, non, you did ze right theeng, ma ch?rie. Zat boy, 'ee is nozzing but trouble!" he announced, in a strong French accent.

"Don't say that! He's my brother!" Porphyria exclaimed in an accent that was strongly indicative of one born and bred in the southeast of England, but who had spent a substantial part of her life in France.

"And," she added, "he can hardly be called a boy anymore. Maybe it's because I haven't seen him since You-Know-Who's first downfall, but he looks so old! Oh, and I do wish he'd do something about his hair..."

"You are not 'eez mozzer, Porphyria..."

"I'm the closest he's got. I've been a mother to Persephone since she was born, and look what's happened now- I couldn't even protect her from Severus' mistakes..."

"Zey are 'eez fault, not yours," Fran?ois comforted. Porphyria he her head in her hands.

"I should have seen it coming, I should have knocked some sense into the boy!"

"You couldn't 'ave known. Of all ze things to do, would you honestly expect your brozzer to become a..."

"Shush! Keep your voice down!" Porphyria hissed.

"I am just saying..."

"I know, I know," Porphyria whispered, "but the signs were there. That crowd he hung around with during his N.E.W.T.s, they were an unpleasant lot, especially that Black girl- and guess what? Her and her husband ended up in Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms into insanity! Vile, vile, the whole family! Plus, things were pretty rough for him at home, what with the parents' splitting up. I'd left before things really began to get bad, but I heard of it all from Severus when he came to visit. The fights, the screaming matches, bringing him into all their rows... poor kid was a wreck by the end of it. 'Course," venom began to creep into her voice, "my folks didn't believe he ever saw any of it. 'Oh, we always kept it away from your brother'... like Hell, they did. He saw it all; they were too wrapped up in their developing hatred of one another to even notice. That's the problem, see, when you mix passion and parenting. I suppose it's hard to see what's right in front of you, when all you can see is each other."

She took a large sip from her wine glass and swirled the liquid around it thoughtfully. Fran?ois kissed her on the cheek.

"It can't 'ave been zat awful- 'ee was at 'Ogwarts, and Dumbledore is said to be an excellent 'eadmaster..."

Porphyria's expression soured and she snorted contemptuously.

"I am sorry, but any headmaster who allows his students to get away with attempted murder does not class as an excellent one," she spat. Fran?ois looked shocked.

"What on Earzz do you mean?" he asked. Porphyria slammed her wine glass down.

"You mean I've never told you? Oh, he had trouble with a gang of obnoxious Gryffindors since he first started at Hogwarts. You met Severus when he was about fifteen, so you know what he was like- very bright, but rather odd and withdrawn, the kind that screams 'victim' to children so inclined. The bullying escalated into all-out war between him and them, but four against one is hardly very fair odds. Anyway, the whole thing came to a head when one of the group- a Black, surprisingly- tricked him into opening a secret passageway that led to the Shrieking Shack..."

"Ze place zat ees 'aunted?" Fran?ois exclaimed. Porphyria gave him a dark smile.

"Oh, it was haunted alright, but not by the dead."

"I don't understand..."

"One of their students at the time, he was a lycanthrope. The Shack was usd to confine him every month while he transformed- that's where the shrieks really came from. So, this nasty little boy thought it would be fun to get Severus to open this passageway to the Shrieking Shack and face up against a fully-fledged, utterly demented werewolf!"

Fran?ois openly gawped at this piece of information.

"You are joking!" he gasped. Porphyria shook her head defiantly.

"I wish I was."

"So, ze boy was expelled?"

Porphyria laughed bitterly.

"You'd think. Any sane headmaster would have. Nope, he got a rap on the knuckles and told not to do it again, and Severus was sworn to secrecy about the whole affair, which I can understand. It's hardly the werewolf's fault-he didn't have a clue what he was doing, there was a reason he was locked up in that place, after all. The Black boy, however... Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. Yet nothing was done... When I think about it, it's hardly surprising Severus took the Mark- why side with people that have put you through that, when you could follow a wizard who was clearly going places at the time, and was ready to offer you some respect?"

"Porphyria!" Fran?ois exclaimed, clearly horrified by his wife's words. Porphyria merely shrugged.

"I'm not saying he was right!" she retorted, "I'm saying I see why... Oh, why didn't I see it coming?"

Fran?ois put his hand over hers in a comforting gesture.

"You did all you could..."

"I should have done more," she replied, briskly.

"Zere comes a time when one 'as to make one's own choices," he said, looking deep into her eyes. She sighed heavily.

"And so he has- and I hate it even more than the first one."

Fran?ois looked confused. Porphyria simply waved her hand across her face, making clear the subject was not open for discussion.

"Oh," she exclaimed. "Guess what happened to that Black boy anyway?"

"What?" Fran?ois asked. Porphyria smiled maliciously.

"He ended up in Azkaban for killing thirteen Muggles with a single curse! The infamous Sirius Black? It was in all the British newspapers. Told you they were a vile family, and you know what they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

Harry clenched his fists in pure anger. How dare that... that woman, say such things about Sirius! He desperately wanted to march right over to her and point out that Sirius was innocent, he had died and her brother was a greasy, malicious, vindictive git of the first order, but something stopped him.

It was Hermione's vice-like grip on his arm.

"Harry, don't even think of doing what I think you're going to," she warned, and Harry suddenly realised she had been listening to the same conversation he had. Before he even had chance to argue his point with her, he heard a scraping of chairs,

"Are you ready to face ze music once again?" Fran?ois asked. Porphyria laughed humourlessly,

"Yes, I'm ready. Not that we'll get anywhere, mind. We'll just argue some more and possibly have a punch-up. It's pretty much hereditary in our family."

Fran?ois laughed and they walked, arm in arm, out of the pub, leaving furious Harry in their wake, pale and shaking with rage, and biting his tongue so much it was beginning to resemble a dog's chew toy.

"How dare she... no right..." Harry growled, whilst trying to breathe deeply and think of calm blue oceans like Professor Beauchamp got them to do at the end of every lesson. It wasn't helping much, for he still had a vivid fantasy of throwing Porphyria Beauchamp into a gladiatorial area with a pack of werewolves and watching the results whilst eating popcorn.

Ron was staring at him.

"What's up with you?" he asked. The rest of the congregation had clearly noticed too, for they were all staring at him as though he were a particularly interesting specimen at London Zoo.

"Nothing," he said, quickly, whilst Hermione gave Ron a pointed look. He took the hint and began to share an anecdote about McGonagall's inspection last year by Umbridge, which distracted the crowd from Harry's fury and caused them to laugh raucously.

"Are you okay, Harry?" someone asked. Harry turned around to face them and almost jumped out of his seat when he saw it was Cho. She had clearly manoeuvred herself between Harry and Hannah to talk to him.

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he managed to utter. Cho smiled sympathetically at him and there was an uncomfortable silence, which she eventually broke.

"I heard about your, you know, from Luna the other week. About him, you know, because of You-Know-Who..."

Despite Cho's reply containing more censored words than Ron's account of a recent Potions class in a letter to his mum, Harry knew what she meant, and thanked her for appreciating his grief for his deceased godfather.

"Last year was pretty tough for you too, wasn't it?" she more stated than asked. Harry grunted in reply.

"I was there when Cedric, you know," he said, and just wished the word 'dead' wasn't so hard to say, for it would have made their conversation a bit easier. Cho smiled back.

"I know... Look," she said, suddenly looking straight into Harry's green eyes. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last year. I'm sorry I was so hot and cold towards you, and that I got so jealous of Hermione. I know she's just your friend... I guess I'm just saying I really wasn't ready to be with you. I had a lot going on in my head."

"I'm not surprised," Harry replied, then suddenly felt very wary.

"You aren't suggesting we could give it another..."

"No," Cho replied emphatically, then laughed. "Sorry, that sounded so horrible. I just don't think we are that good a match."

Harry laughed.

"Me neither. So, we both think we shouldn't date. Well, that's good."

"We agree on something- bonus!" Cho replied. They looked at each other for a moment, before bursting into hysterical laugher.

When Cho eventually moved back to talk to Michael and Padma, Ron stared at Harry as though he had gone insane.

"What was all that about?" he asked, suddenly narrowing his eyes. "You aren't going back out are you?"

"No," Harry replied, truthfully, "but we've made friends."

"That's nice," Hermione replied, having halted her conversation with Ginny and Terry long enough to do so.

"Yeah," Harry said with a smile. "It is."

That evening, the entire former DA walked back to Hogwarts, their names jumping from the 'Out' board to the 'In' board as they passed through the gate, chatting and joking.

"That was really good fun," Hannah exclaimed appreciatively, with Ernie nodding in agreement.

"We must do it again some time," he added, before they and the other Hufflepuffs bid them goodnight. Soon after, the Ravenclaws did the same and headed to their tower, leaving the Gryffindors to ascend the staircase to their own common room.

"Right," Dean coughed, "Queerd..., Qu," he burst into hysterics.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it," he guffawed. Ginny rolled her eyes at him.

"You have the maturity of a five year old. 'Queerditch Marsh'," she announced.

"You tell him, love," the Fat Lady commended, before the painting swung away, leaving them free to enter their common room.

"Ooh, look!" Colin squeaked, excitedly, "it's Professor Beauchamp!"

The woman in question gave a tired wave from her seat near the fire.

"Hi, Colin," she replied. Dean looked suspiciously at her.

"What are you doing here, Professor? We didn't forget to hand in any homework, did we?" he asked. Beauchamp laughed as though it was clearly an effort.

"No, Dean, you're quite safe. I wanted to have a word with Harry, actually, about his Auror application practice?" She looked at Harry pointedly.

"What, now?" Harry said, before he could stop himself. Saturday night seemed an awfully odd time to discuss Occlumency with him.

"Yes, now," she replied, and stood up from where she had been sitting. Harry followed her out of the room. She strode as purposefully as usual, yet she seemed exhausted, leaving Harry able to catch up with her fairly easily as they went down the staircase, turned and went up another flight until they reached the second floor.

"Damn moving staircases," Beauchamp muttered. "I swear I use a new route every day to get to my office," she said to Harry as they reached the heavy oak door. She opened it and gestured for Harry to enter.

"Take a seat," she offered, and Harry thought she meant the blue mat, until he spotted two comfortable-looking armchairs situated nearby. He sat gingerly in one as Beauchamp locked the door and sat in the other.

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked, warily. Beauchamp smiled weakly.

"No, not at all. I just..." She sighed heavily and ran her hands through her thick dark fringe. "I have something to tell you."

"To tell me?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling nervous. Beauchamp nodded.

"Something you're not going to like, but I have to tell you anyway," she replied, looking even paler than usual. Harry looked up at her to show she had his full attention.

"It's about Professor Snape and myself. You see, my memory was restored the other day with a potion. I trust Hermione told you about it- Viktor wrote to me and explained how he had told her about my amnesia. Turns out that vision you saw last term of a little girl in a cottage garden with a man- well, the girl was me, the cottage was my Aunt Porphyria's, and the man was Severus. He's my father, Harry."

Harry squirmed in his seat a little.

"Erm," he managed to say, "me and Hermione kind of worked it out the other day. It was accidental," he added, quickly. "We knocked some medical records over, I was reading a back copy of the Daily Prophet, about the mystery girl awaking from the coma- we put two and two together. We're really sorry, we should have said..."

Beauchamp touched her finger to her lip momentarily and Harry fell silent.

"That's not what I'm concerned about," she said, and Harry felt his stomach tie up in a knot. There was something else?

"It's about you, Harry," she sighed, and looked away from him at the crackling fire.

"See, you're my half-brother. Maternal- same mother," she said quickly, as though hearing this revelation at speed would somehow be easier.

It took Harry a few moments to realise what this meant. Then he was beyond furious.

"What?" he asked quietly, though with a murderous look in his eyes. Beauchamp continued to find the flames in the fireplace fascinating.

"Your mum's my mum. Your dad's not my dad," she replied, quietly. Harry thought he might have staggered into a chair, if he wasn't already sitting down.

"How?" he asked, feeling winded with the news.

"Well, generally, the man puts his..."

Harry leapt out of his chair.

"Don't try and make a joke out of this, it isn't funny!" he yelled.

"Sorry," Beauchamp replied, in that same subdued voice, whilst still staring at the fireplace in that maddening way. Harry jumped up out of his chair and glared at her wildly.

"No, no," he said, feeling his whole body begin to tremble with excess adrenaline. "You don't get to dump this on me and just sit there as though it doesn't matter!"

"Does it?" Beauchamp asked serenely, finally looking at him.

"Too bloody right it does!" he practically yelled. Beauchamp stared at him, and stood up herself.

"Look, this isn't my fault," she shouted back. "I didn't have much of a say as to whether I was born or not, you know!"

Harry felt sick. None of Beauchamp's words changed what was making him so angry- that Snape, of all people, had known his mother in a way he really didn't deserve to, as far as Harry was concerned. At that moment, he had felt an almost crippling hatred for the man. In a horrible way that twisted at his stomach, he began to feel something less than love for his mother. What possessed her to, well, get that close to Snape in the first place?

"Harry," Beauchamp said, warningly. "Nobody must find out about this..."

"Why, are you as ashamed as I am?" he spat back, viciously. Beauchamp sighed, and gave Harry her glare of superiority.

"Harry, you're a pretty smart kid. I'm sure you can guess what would happen if a Death Eater spy was revealed to have a half-blood love-child by the famous Lily Potter?"

"Did they... I mean, did she agree to it?" Harry found himself asking. Beauchamp looked horrified.

"Harry! Severus may be many things, but he's not..." She trailed off, evidently too upset by Harry's words to speak.

"I'm sorry," he replied, feeling guilty on top of his seething hatred. Beauchamp composed herself.

"Just don't let my Aunt hear you talk like that. She may tell the world and his wife what pains Severus and I are, but woe betide anyone who dares to agree with her."

Despite himself, Harry found he was smiling at her words. Beauchamp relaxed a little.

"Look, I can't really give you the answers you want. Know what I always do when I want to find something out?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Enlighten me," he said.

"I go and speak to the one person who is most likely to be able to give you the answers," she replied. Harry blinked for a second, and he understood. He must go and talk to Snape. Harry felt himself become overwhelmed with righteous fury. Oh, he'd go and talk to Snape, all right...

"Harry, perhaps you should wait until you've calmed down," Beauchamp called after him, but Harry was long gone. He pelted down the second floor corridor, ran straight through a rather unnerved Nearly Headless Nick, and almost fell down the stairs to the dungeons. By the time he had reached Snape's office, he was panting from the exertion and from the burning anger and contempt inside.

Still, he managed to be polite enough to knock first.

"Enter," Snape's voice called from behind the door. Harry opened it and entered his office, slamming the door behind him. That noise, at least, made him look up from the huge pile of essays he was in the process of marking.

"Mr. Potter," he said, with thinly disguised contempt. "I trust you've spoken with Professor Beauchamp..."

Harry strode towards the desk.

"You had sex with my mother," he spat, as though it was a crime punishable with lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban. Snape glared back at him, and said nothing for a while. Eventually, he sat back in his chair a little.

"Once, twenty-three years ago. It's hardly pertinent."

"She was my mother!" Harry said in a raised voice.

"I'm sorry the news that your mother had a life before you were born upsets you so," he replied, before going back to his marking. Harry slammed his fist on Snape's desk, causing the papers to flutter.

"I want to know what happened!" he demanded. Snape looked back up at him with a disdainful glare.

"Persephone," he replied, simply. "Satisfied, Potter?"

"I want to know why," Harry retorted. Snape sighed as though he was thoroughly bored with the proceedings.

"What makes you think it is any of your business?" he sneered. Harry leant closer to him.

"Because she was my mother," he repeated, though more quietly and venomously than he had the first time around. Snape appeared to be ignoring him, instead choosing to hunt around in his desk drawers. After five minutes of this, at which Harry felt himself grow steadily angrier, he pulled out a few thin red volumes, kept together by a few elastic bands. He thrust the volumes at Harry, who took them in shock.

"Your mother's diaries," he explained. "She left them to me when she died. No doubt they'll hold whatever answers you require. Just don't come crying to me if you don't like what you read," he said, silkily, before returning to his marking. Harry stood and stared at him for a while. His mum left Snape her diaries? Why him? Why not leave them to her son, or her husband, or to anyone else on the entire planet that wasn't Snape? It beggared belief.

Harry coughed.

"You still here?" Snape said, without looking up. "What is it now, Potter?"

Harry felt Steve, his savage side, suddenly flare into life and make him say something he was sure he would regret, as he leant towards Snape, his entire body tingling with hatred.

"You're unbelievable, " he whispered. "So, when you became a Death Eater, I take it you'd decided Muggle-borns didn't deserve a place in society, but they were alright for a quick..."

Harry didn't finish his sentence. Judging from the sharp pain he could feel spreading across his jaw, he hadn't needed to. Snape was rolling the sleeve of his left arm back down, and Harry caught a glimpse of that awful red mark burned into his skin. His face was flushed.

"I think you'd better leave, Potter, before I do something we'll both regret," he said, quietly but without losing any of the venom that laced his voice.

Harry did as he was told and stormed out of his office clutching that bundle of red diaries, slamming the door behind him and feeling no better than when he had first stormed in.

Chapter Twenty: The Aftermath

Harry returned to the common room later that night, to be greeted by both Ron and Hermione, who were palpably struggling to stay awake.

"Harry? Oh, Harry, what on Earth's the matter?" Hermione exclaimed, on seeing Harry's thunderstruck face.

"I don't want to talk about it right now," he said, walking straight past them and up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Ron followed him.

"Harry, wait up!" he called. Harry stopped, then turned to face him.

"Look, Ron," he said, "I just don't want to talk about it right now. I just want to go to bed and forget all about it for tonight."

Ron looked concerned, but nodded.

"Sure thing, mate. Just remember, we're here, you know," he replied. Harry smiled gratefully, though he felt it was an empty gesture, before flopping down on his bed.

He felt something cold and smooth tickle his face. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and looked at his pillow. Sure enough, there was a letter lying there in an envelope with his name written on it in small, slightly spindly writing. He recognised it as being Professor Beauchamp's own hand. He sighed heavily, and put it to one side, focusing instead on the diaries he was still clutching in his hand. Carefully, he pulled of the elastic bands and laid them out on his bed. The volumes dated from 1971 to 1980 and each had the words 'Lily's diary- do not read!' emblazoned across the front in colourful ink, and were decorated with hearts, flowers, cats, stars and little potion bottles, as well as the occasional snitch. He noticed with a smile the different initials that were scribbled in the hearts according to the year of the diary, and for a moment felt an odd, tangible connection with his mother that he had never experienced before- the idea that she had been a kid just like him. He opened the page of the first volume and began to read.

'1/09/71:

Wow, I just can't believe it! Me, a witch? It all seems so bizarre. Mum and Dad were thrilled, and took me down to Diagon Alley themselves. Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, showed us how to get in- wow, all these secret openings and passageways that Muggles can't access. Anyway, we bought school-robes, a cauldron, I also got a wand- it's made of willow and apparently it's good for charmwork! I suppose I'll find out for myself tomorrow when I have my first classes. I'm really nervous!

Anyway, today I boarded the special Hogwarts train- imagine my shock when I realised I had to literally walk through the wall to get onto the platform! There weren't that many seats free, so I sat next to this boy, who looked about my age. He was engrossed in a copy of 'The Daily Prophet', which I imagine is the wizard equivalent of 'The Guardian', perhaps, or maybe 'The Independent'. It didn't look much like a gutter tabloid, at any rate.

I tried to make conversation with him, but he didn't seem interested in speaking to me, so after a while I gave up. He was a queer-looking boy with a big nose, he had really pale skin, and really dark hair and eyes- he almost looked like one of those monochrome paintings Petunia has up in her room.

Ah yes, that's another thing. Petunia. She didn't seem at all pleased about me going to Hogwarts. She merely sniffed and said something about it being 'unnatural'. I don't understand her, I think she just doesn't want me to have any fun.

Anyway, I left him alone, and started talking to this girl who had sat next to me. Her name was Sylvia, she's from a long line of wizards, and told me loads about Hogwarts. We got on really well, and she introduced me to her friend Tessa, who was also really nice.

Then there was some horrible girl who wandered into our carriage, acting as if she owned the train. She had long dark hair and appeared very toffee-nosed, and introduced herself as Bellatrix Black, as though that was supposed to mean something to me. She asked me my name and what my family did, when I told her they weren't wizards, she looked at me as though I was utter scum! Tessa told me to ignore her, and that there were some wizards that believed 'pure-blood' witches and wizards were somehow better than 'Muggle-borns', but that most knew it to be nonsense.

What was funny though, was that this Bellatrix girl kept pestering the boy reading the newspaper for his name, but he kept ignoring her. She got so mad, she took his newspaper off him and he cursed her! Right there in the train carriage! It was really nasty too- she was covered in horrible boils; I thought she was going to cry! He looked really mean, and I was a bit scared, to be honest, so I just passed him his paper back, hoping I wouldn't be next. He just said 'thank you', took the paper back and carried on reading as if nothing had happened! Weird.

When we got to Hogwarts, we had to go through a 'sorting', where each of the first years had to put on this black pointed hat and it told us which 'house' we would end up in. It spent a lot of time talking to me- I thought I might be going mad- but it told me I was in Gryffindor, which is groovy. That's the brave house, plus Sylvia and Tessa were in there too, and they were neat! We stayed up talking until twelve this evening! That's why I'm writing this so late.

Ooh, we've also got two horrible boys in our house- James Potter and Sirius Black. They're simply beastly! James cursed Tessa's butterfly hair band to come to life, and flew her around the room- it scared her so much, but he and that Sirius seemed to think it was hilarious! Well, I just hope I don't have to have anything to do with either of them! I suppose that Sirius must be related to Bellatrix- that would explain why they're both so vile!

Oh, I almost forgot- the other houses. There was Hufflepuff, but I didn't recognise anyone who was sorted there. It's the hardworking house, apparently. They did seem a decent lot. There was Ravenclaw, who are the clever ones. That boy I sat next to on the train was sorted there, though he didn't seem too happy. I don't know why- it must be nice to be thought of as clever. Then there was Slytherin- they are supposed to be cunning and ambitious. That Bellatrix girl was sorted there, and didn't she look pleased about it- vicious little so-and-so!

I'd better go to bed now- breakfast is at half past seven, so I'll write in here tomorrow!

Lily x x'

Harry smiled, and tucked the diaries away into his trunk. Knowing what he did about James and Sirius, he couldn't help but smile at his mother's description of them being 'beastly', considering their illegal animagus status. He wondered briefly who the boy that cursed Bellatrix was. At first he'd assumed it was Snape, from the description, but he ended up in Ravenclaw, and Sirius himself told him that Snape had hung around with a Slytherin crowd during school.

He yawned and looked at his clock, which showed the time to be half past one in the morning. He quickly got undressed and ready for bed, though he didn't feel much like sleeping, a thought exacerbated by Neville's frequent snoring. The letter from Professor Beauchamp lay unopened on the top of his trunk.

The next morning, he awoke to see Ron and Hermione sitting, fully dressed, at the foot of his bed, Hermione holding a napkin full of breakfast food.

"We smuggled these out of the Great Hall," she explained. "Breakfast finished two hours ago!"

Harry looked at his clock, and was stunned to see it read ten o'clock.

"I didn't fancy waking you, seeing as you went to bed really late last night. Thought you might be well annoyed," Ron added.

"Thanks," Harry replied, and sat up in his bed, gratefully eating the bacon and egg sandwiches Hermione had hastily thrown together, and drinking the pumpkin juice Ron had somehow managed to store in Neville's old Potions flask. Hermione appeared to be staring at his face.

"What is it?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"When did you get that bruise?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Ran into a door frame last night," he lied. Hermione frowned, but said no more about it. Instead, she and Hermione sat in relative silence, occasionally chatting to him about the D.A. reunion yesterday. Eventually, Harry looked up at them.

"I suppose you want to know what happened with Beauchamp last night," he said, through a mouthful of sandwich. Ron and Hermione looked horrified.

"Oh, Harry, not unless you want to tell us..."

"We were going to wait until you wanted to mention it..."

Harry laughed out loud, for despite their protestations, he could see the gleam of curiosity in both their expressions.

"It's okay. I was planning on telling you, but thanks for pretending I didn't have to," he replied with a sly grin.

"Hey, we're mates right? No secrets," Ron stated, which made Harry feel really guilty about the one big secret he had kept from them both since last June. He cleared his throat.

"Is anyone else here?" he asked. Ron looked around the room and shook his head,

"Nah- they're all in the common room," he replied. Harry took a deep breath.

"Alright. Beauchamp sat me down in her office and told me that Snape was her father."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"So we were right, after all," she commented. Ron looked perturbed,

"Why did she feel the need to tell you?" he asked, "I'd keep very quiet about that little fact if it was me."

"Well, you see, that's what I thought," Harry replied, "but it turns out it actually concerns me."

Ron looked blankly at him.

"How?" he asked, but Harry saw Hermione clap her hand to her mouth in horror. He gave her a lop-sided smile.

"Beauchamp's my half sister. We've got the same mum. You do the maths," he finished. Judging by the looks on both Hermione and Ron's faces, the former had worked out the equation at least five seconds faster than the latter.

"Oh, Harry! What did you do?" Hermione asked. Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair.

"I went to see him," he replied. Ron stared at him suddenly.

"Did you kill him?" he asked. Hermione slapped him on the arm.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, clearly horrified. Ron shrugged.

"Well, at least we'd get out of Potions," he replied blithely.

"No," Harry answered. "But I got pretty angry. He just sat there at his desk, chucked me my mum's diaries, which for some reason he owns, and told me pretty much not to bother him about it again." He felt it wise to omit his later offensive accusation, and the resulting altercation of Snape's left fist with his jaw.

Ron muttered something under his breath that caused Hermione to glare at him.

"Oh come on, Hermione," he retorted, "It's hardly fair to tell someone not to bother them when that someone has just found out they have a sister because of them!"

Suddenly, Ron pulled a face.

"Hang about!" he exclaimed. "How old is Beauchamp?"

Harry shrugged.

"Snape said something about it happening twenty-three years ago. I'm guessing she must be about twenty-two. Why?"

"Blimey, think how young your mum must have been when she had her!" Ron pointed out. Harry did some mental calculations, but Hermione beat him to it by replying.

"Fifteen! That's younger than me!" she exclaimed in horror. "Snape and your mum were in the same year at school, too, so he must have been her age..." She shook her head in dismay. "I didn't think you could even get people pregnant at fifteen."

"Well, you learn something new every day," Harry replied, suddenly feeling angry again.

"Well," Ron pointed out, "at least it explains why your mum was Beauchamp's Secret Keeper."

Harry sighed.

"True. That makes sense. Doesn't make me feel any better, though," he replied with a sliver of bitterness in his voice.

He saw Hermione lean over the bed to pick up the letter on the top of Harry's trunk and scrutinise the writing on the envelope.

"Harry, is this from Professor Beauchamp?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yep," he replied, shortly. Hermione turned the envelope over in her hands and examined the unbroken seal.

"I take it you haven't read it yet?" she enquired. Harry sighed.

"No, I haven't," he replied, testily.

"Well, don't you think you should?" she asked. Harry shrugged, but said nothing.

"It's hardly her fault, perhaps she has something she wants to say," Hermione pointed out, as she thrust the envelope under Harry's nose.

"Open it," she instructed.

Feeling as though he was a naughty first year under Hermione's reproachful glare, he did as he was told. The first thing he noticed was that the letter was fairly short, the second thing he noticed was that Beauchamp liked to doodle in the margin of her parchment, and draw smiley faces at the end of her letters.

Dear Harry,

Sorry I felt the need to commit all this to paper- after you bolted from my office this evening, I reckoned this was the best way to get you to at least pay attention. Don't worry; I was the same when I was your age. Thing is, despite what's happened, I would really like to get to know you as, you know, who you are to me (I don't want to write it explicitly for obvious reasons). All the other animosity I feel has nothing to do with us, and everything to do with other people in our lives, and I don't see why certain people and their feelings should interfere. Please come and see me some time so we can talk about things, I would hate to leave them how they are. I know you're angry and I also know I can't do anything to stop that, but maybe we can learn to get along at least?

Love, Persephone

X x x

Harry stared a moment at the paper, then back at Hermione.

"Do you know something?" he said to her. She shook her head.

"What?" she asked.

"You have this annoying habit of being right," he replied, with a smile. Hermione beamed.

"So, you're going to talk to her?" she asked. Harry nodded,

"Yeah, well." He looked down at his pyjama top. "I will once I've got changed."

Hermione ushered Ron away, who looked indignant.

"Hermione, I share a dorm with Harry; there's hardly much need for me to leave the room," he replied, before staring at Hermione and her prim expression. He sighed and shrugged.

"Fine, I'm coming, I'm coming," he groaned, following her out of the dormitory, leaving Harry to get dressed.

It was quarter past eleven by the time Harry had got ready and made his way to Beauchamp's office on the second floor. As he reached the door, he heard Beauchamp was talking to someone. She had rather a distinctive voice, and he could hear her words clearly.

"... Your grades have been slipping, Draco..."

"I know, Professor, I'm trying to catch up, really..."

"Well, what I'm suggesting is perhaps I could help you over Easter. I know it's a school holiday and you will probably want to go home, but it would be an ample opportunity to get caught up, and I'll be free to give you some extra tutoring. I'm sure your mother would understand. What do you say?"

"Okay, Professor, I'll talk to her about it."

"Good lad..."

Harry felt it might be prudent to knock and at last make his presence known.

"Come in," her voice called after he knocked gently on the door. He walked in to find her with Draco sat in the chair next to her desk. A large stack of parchments sat on her desk, making it clear to Harry that she was in the middle of doing much the same thing Snape had been yesterday evening- swiftly marking a huge pile of homework parchments.

"Oh, hi, Harry," she said on seeing him standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"Erm, I can come back another time," he said, "I can see you're busy..."

"Oh, nonsense, Draco and I had just finished," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. She looked at Draco with a mixture of sternness and concern.

"So, are you happy to try that?"

Draco nodded, standing up.

"Yes, Professor," he replied. Beauchamp smiled.

"Good lad, now let me know what decision you come to, okay?"

Draco smiled, and Harry though he looked the epitome of sycophancy.

"Certainly, Professor," he finished, before leaving he room, though not before he had glared at Harry.

"Sit down, Harry," Beauchamp gestured towards the chair Draco had previously occupied. He did as he was told, and sat in a chair next to her desk. He fiddled with the cuffs of his robes whilst she finished off marking the paper she had been looking at before he entered.

"I just wanted to say, I read your letter, and I'm sorry," he said, once he had got her full attention. She smiled briefly.

"It's quite alright, Harry," she replied. "It came as a bit of a shock to me, I must admit..." She looked up at the open door, and suddenly raised her right hand.

"Dextera; obstruo ianua," she commanded, and with a jet of white light, the door swung shut.

"And I woke up remembering it all," she finished, with a chuckle. Harry looked at her warily.

"You find it funny?" he asked, though less aggressively than he did when she made a joke about it the previous evening. Beauchamp shrugged.

"Well, what else can you do?" she replied, unapologetically. Harry found he could see her point.

"So," he asked, "what do we do now?"

Beauchamp looked at him and shrugged.

"Beats me. I've watched Muggle telly where they reunite families, but they never show you that bit. Suppose it makes for boring television. I think we're supposed to drink tea and reminisce- sound good to you?" she asked. Harry laughed.

"Yeah, why not? Not that I can really remember much, being only one at the time," he replied. Beauchamp smiled.

"If it helps, I can't remember a huge amount either, just being in a strange house that seemed normal at the time to me and trying to make my baby brother learn Latin- an offence I definitely picked up from my father."

Harry tried to hide his shock at Beauchamp having mentioned her stay with the Potters' as though he knew, and failed. Beauchamp flashed him a wicked smile.

"Dumbledore told me you and Hermione, ahem, found out entirely by accident the whole story of my death," she replied, with mock care. Harry flushed with embarrassment.

"We were..." he began to explain, then realised that pointing out that they were spying on Snape didn't make him or Hermione fare any better in the tale. Beauchamp waved her hand casually.

"Not important," she replied, getting up to make two cups of her rather pungent green tea. "There are some things, Harry, that I imagine I could well do without knowing about my little brother," she added, as the kettle boiled.

"So, you survived the Killing Curse- I doubt that's happened to many people," Harry pointed out, by way of making conversation, as Beauchamp poured two cups of green tea.

"No, I didn't," Beauchamp replied, curiously, as she sliced a lemon in half with a nearby dagger. Harry almost did a double take.

"Yes you did, I mean, you're walking around and everything," he replied, thinking Beauchamp had suddenly gone quite mad. She shook her head and handed him a cup of tea.

"No, Voldemort killed me. He struck me with the Killing Curse and I died. I was dead for weeks, lying in that mausoleum with asphodel in my hands ready to be buried by the darkness of the new moon. Somehow, I didn't stay dead."

She glanced up at Harry's bewildered expression and laughed.

"I know, it's weird. No wonder ghosts and the living dead regard me as a freak."

Though stunned by this piece of knowledge, Harry suddenly remembered something Augustine Dougherty had mentioned during his visit to Beauchamp's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"Hang on," Harry said, "Augustine said you drowned, and that's how you died!"

Beauchamp sipped her tea casually.

"I did," she replied, simply. This made little sense to Harry.

"So how could you have died at Voldemort's hands as well?"

Beauchamp shrugged.

"I've no idea. I don't think it's very common."

Harry's eyebrows almost leapt off his face.

"You can't die twice!" he exclaimed, as though saying it out loud would make it truer. The only occasion that sprung to Harry's mind of such an occurrence was Ron's Divination homework. Beauchamp looked down at herself.

"And yet," she commented, "here I am."

"So, how did you drown?" he asked, as though knowing this might help make the fact that his half-sister had apparently died twice yet lived to tell the tale make sense. Beauchamp put down her cup of tea.

"I was at Beaubaxtons," she explained. "I was sixteen years old, and in my first year of N.E.W.T.s, and it was our first inter-house Quidditch match, which our house had won. I was getting changed back into my school robes, when I heard one of our teachers show a well-to-do gentleman around. He was making comments in very poor French, and then began to converse with me, again in dreadful French. So, I saved him the bother and let him know English was my mother tongue. Anyway, he was very polite, asking me why I was studying here and not at Hogwarts, to which I replied that my mother wanted me to learn French, which was the story Aunt Porphyria had told me to tell. However, during this conversation, stupid sixteen year-old me let slip that I had been at Durmstrang, at which the man was suddenly very interested in what I had to say- apparently he was thinking of sending his kid there, if he could talk his wife into it. After that- well, it seems such an innocuous act, you'd be surprised it lead to my death."

"What happened?"

"I dropped my bag. The gentleman went to pick it up. It was heavy, and he had to lift it quite high to support the weight. His sleeve rolled down, and I saw he had been marked. By Voldemort. I mean, when he was believed dead, the mark wasn't clear on his followers, unless you knew what you were looking for. The skin's kind of puckered- I knew because I'd seen it on Karkaroff."

Harry felt himself gasp.

"What's worse," Beauchamp continued, "he noticed my expression. And he was not happy."

Harry' eyes widened.

"What, so he drowned you?"

"No- he tried to strangle me first, but somehow, I made part of his head explode- don't know how, except that it was the first time I had made anything like that happen since I was eight, and it led to the beginning of my wandless magic training. He was pretty peeved."

Harry scrutinised Persephone's face. He imagined 'pretty peeved' was a slight understatement.

"We struggled," Persephone continued, "and he thrust my head into a blocked sink until I drowned. Alex Ridley, a visiting alumnus of Beaubaxtons and now a friend of mine, found and resuscitated me. But I was clinically dead for at least three minutes. I think Alex must have chased Malfoy out of the..."

Beauchamp stopped suddenly, and Harry realised she had not meant to tell him the name of her killer.

"Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked, feeling a sudden wave of renewed loathing hit him. Beauchamp nodded.

"Yes. I didn't really want to tell you, seeing as his son is in your class and all," she replied. Harry stared at her.

"But his son's an utter git!" he exclaimed. Beauchamp hushed him.

"He's one of my pupils, and I like to separate the father from the son. It doesn't help with impartial teaching, as I'm sure you're only too aware."

Harry realised she had noticed the animosity between himself and Snape, though if he thought about it, you really had to be deaf, blind and dumb not to notice.

"Anyway," Beauchamp pointed out, "from what I've heard in the Daily Prophet, you're no stranger to escaping death."

Harry shrugged.

"Yeah, once in every year I've been at Hogwarts," he replied. "Except I have never actually died."

Beauchamp smiled and sipped more of her tea. Harry did the same, and they sat in silence for a while, though the silence was comfortable.

Suddenly, Beauchamp fished in her desk drawer and pulled out a cylindrical tin.

"Biscuit?" she offered, "They're jammie dodgers," she added, as though trying to tempt him with the deal. Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied, and took one of the biscuits, whilst pulling his chair a little closer to Persephone, feeling glad he took Hermione's advice.

"So, it went well then?" Hermione asked, when he returned to the empty common room. Harry smiled.

"Yeah, it did. We got on pretty well, actually. We're not getting our family portrait done or anything like that, but we talked and it was okay," he replied. Ron beamed at him.

"Well, that's good- maybe she'll let you slack off on homework now and then?"

Harry laughed.

"Doubt it."

"As it should be," Hermione added, pointedly, with clear disapproval at the suggestion of Harry's sister letting her brother's education slide. Ron rolled his eyes at her, at which she glared before returning to her book.

"She told me about her deaths, too," Harry pointed out. It took a few moments for Ron and Hermione to fully process this new information, for about seven seconds later, they reacted in the same manner Harry had, in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"Deaths? As in plural?" Hermione asked, clearly sceptical. Harry nodded.

"Yep- once at the hands of Voldemort, the other whilst she was at Beaubaxtons."

"Is that the time Augustine was talking about when he said she'd drowned?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, it was. An Alex Ridley revived her, apparently. Anyway, have a guess who did the dirty deed?" he asked, darkly. Ron and Hermione looked blankly at him.

"No idea," Ron replied.

"Malfoy," Harry answered, simply. Hermione looked shocked.

"Gosh! And she has to teach his son?"

"Yep," Harry replied. Ron pursed his lip a little.

"Well, she's pretty good if she can ignore that and teach him- her dad can't even let go of the fact your dad beat him at Quidditch now and then!" he pointed out.

Hermione seemed distracted by something else Harry had mentioned, however.

"Alex Ridley?" she mused. Harry nodded, not wanting to correct Ron on the situation between his father and Snape during their school days.

"Yeah," he replied. Hermione frowned.

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"Ridley- the name rings a bell. Perhaps my parents knew a Ridley- I'll ask them over Easter..."

Harry drew a deep breath, it was now or never.

"I've got something to tell you both," Harry blurted out, suddenly. Ron and Hermione looked at him with surprise.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. Harry looked around the common room to see if it was still empty, and let everything he had been worried about that year spill out of his mouth- the prophecy, how both he and Neville could have been the one Voldemort marked... Once he had finished, he saw that Ron and Hermione were staring at him, their jaws slack.

"Wow," Ron managed to say. "Wow!"

Hermione looked concerned.

"You? The fate of the wizarding world is entirely down to you? Isn't that scary?" she asked. Harry looked at her with an expression of bewilderment.

"Well, yeah!" he replied, incredulously. Ron shook his head.

"Blimey," he sighed, "you can't even make your hair surrender to your command of a morning, how are you going to manage Voldemort?" he asked. Harry looked at him and saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes. They both laughed, the tension broken.

"That's pretty much what I thought," he replied. Hermione smiled at him, and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

"It'll be okay," she said, "you've got Dumbledore and all the Order on your side. Beauchamp too, I'd imagine, and she's pretty tough."

"She might even join the Order, for all we know," Ron pointed out.

Hermione looked concerned.

"Does Neville know?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"No, I don't think he does," he replied. Hermione chewed her lip.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked. Hermione looked up at them both.

"Shouldn't you tell him?" she asked, though Harry knew the question was directed at him. He swallowed hard.

"I don't know. What's the point, if it isn't him?" he asked. "It's bad enough what the Lestranges did to his parents; wouldn't knowing they might have tortured them because he was a candidate for this prophecy of Voldemort's downfall make things worse?"

Hermione nodded slowly.

"I didn't think of it like that," she replied.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Hermione spoke up again.

"You've got us, you know that, right?" she added.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "we may not be as skilled as Dumbledore, Tonks, Kingsley and Lupin, but we're not afraid to nearly get killed helping you out- you've seen that enough times!"

Harry managed a smile and pulled his friends into a hug, not wanting to point out to them that it may very well come to that, and more. 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-One: The Knights of Walpurgis

The Easter holidays had come, and most of the school had gone home, except for those who were either in the fifth year or the seventh year, who were busy revising and attempting to stave off 'exam-itis', as Ginny had called it, whilst struggling to stay awake and read through her 'History of Magic' notes. Harry, Ron, and Ginny remained at Hogwarts, as did Draco, Harry noticed with some irritation. Presumably he had taken Persephone up on her offer of extra tuition to help improve his Defence Against the Dark Arts marks. At least if he wasn't in the mood to deal with Draco's constant barrage of insults and attacks, which occurred without fail if Harry was alone and no teachers were around, he had found a sure-fire way of avoiding conflict. All he had to do was stand near Hermione, and Draco would back off, presumably scared she might let slip about his indiscretion in the library as a retort. Sadly, this had been impossible for the past week, as Hermione had gone on holiday with her parents to Rome for 'a cultural experience' as she had put it. Alternatively, she had gone with her parents to 'look at a bunch of churches', as Ron had put it.

Another plus point was that Roger Davies was also busy revising for his N.E.W.T. exams, and with the absence of some of the Student Quidditch team, practise was suspended for a fortnight, meaning that Harry got to enjoy at least two extra days a week where he didn't have to get up at the crack of dawn and fly around on his broomstick in the freezing cold and rain. Much as he loved Quidditch, he couldn't help but appreciate being in his warm bed that little bit more.

"When is Hermione due back?" Ginny groaned, during breakfast that Friday. "I need my tutoring friend! Potions is killing me, I'm still not sure of the side-effects of over-using hellebore in medicinal draughts."

Harry shrugged.

"Not sure," he replied, "she said that they got back to England yesterday evening, and her parents wanted to unpack and get sorted before they drove her up to Scotland."

Ginny raised her eyebrows in curiosity.

"Why doesn't she just take the Knight Bus? It'll be quicker," she asked.

"I think her parents are worried about her going so far by herself," Harry replied, with a smirk. "Daft really, when you consider last year she flew across the British Isles on the back of an invisible horse. I'm sure public transport isn't nearly so hazardous," he added. Ginny looked up at him.

"Only her parents don't know about that," she replied. "Can't say that I blame her, they'd probably go spare if they found out half of the things that happened to her here."

Harry spotted Ron dragging himself into breakfast, looking bleary eyed. He sat himself down next to Ginny with a thud and clumsily began to butter some toast, dragging his sleeve into the pot of marmalade next to him.

"You look tired, Ron," Ginny commented. Ron merely grunted a reply as he ate his toast.

"What time did you go to bed last night?" Ginny asked.

"Late," Ron muttered, before buttering more toast. An evil grin spread across Ginny's face.

"Why were you up so late, Ron?" she asked. Ron turned his head and fixed her with a frosty glance.

"I just was," he replied, making it clear he wanted no further part in their conversation. Ginny shrugged and giggled into her porridge.

"Do you know when Hermione's supposed to be coming back, Ron?" Harry asked. Ron slammed his toast down onto his plate and stared hard at Harry.

"Oh, bloody hell, not you too!" he moaned. Harry was stunned.

"What are you on about, Ron?" he asked. Ron suddenly looked at the floor.

"Sorry, Harry," he mumbled. "It's all Ginny's fault. She's been winding me up all week."

Ginny's eyes widened in mock umbrage.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, "how can you accuse me, your darling little sister, of such awful behaviour?"

Ron merely shrugged, and went back to his toast. Ginny, however, stood up out of her chair.

"Right, I'm off," she announced.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked. Ginny sighed.

"I'm meeting Luna- to do some more revision," she replied, with a tone of melancholy. Harry smiled sympathetically at her.

"Good luck," he replied. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I'm telling you, I'll be glad when the O.W.L.s are finally over- they're doing my head in!"

Harry watched her start to move away from the Gryffindor table and glance across at the Slytherins. Then, inexplicably, she walked back over to where Harry and Ron were sitting and Harry found himself face to face with her again.

"Ooh, have either of you two seen Malfoy about?" she asked. Ron looked askance at her.

"Why would we care where that git is?" he said, incredulously, and pulled a face that registered disgust. Ginny shrugged.

"It's just that I saw him last night, when I was coming back from the library. Snape was escorting him somewhere- he said something about there being a carriage ready for him and that he was sure she would be all right. I was just curious."

Ron and Harry looked at each other, and Ron shrugged.

"No idea," he replied.

"Sorry," Harry added. Ginny shrugged again.

"Oh well- I thought I'd ask. See you later," she called, as she walked towards the exit of the Great Hall.

"Wonder what all that was about?" Harry said to Ron, who shrugged.

"Who cares- it's Malfoy," he replied, with a snort of distaste.

Suddenly, a newspaper landed flat onto Harry's breakfast. Harry looked behind him, and saw Hermione standing there, a smile on her face. She smoothed down her hair with her hand, but it didn't stop it frizzing back out from underneath her headband.

"Oh, you're back," Ron stated, through a mouthful of toast. Hermione smiled wryly at him.

"Yes, Ron, obviously," she replied, sitting down next to Harry.

"How was Rome?" Harry asked. Hermione beamed.

"Oh, it was wonderful!" she enthused. "We visited Vatican City and I saw the Sistine chapel- can you believe that entire ceiling mural is painted to look three-dimensional? It's simply superb- it looks as though the people painted sitting up on the columns are actually hanging down!"

"Wow, sounds like a right laugh," Ron replied, giving Harry a look that suggested he found the whole idea somewhat tedious. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"Just because you don't appreciate such things, Ron," she tutted, at which Ron rolled his eyes.

"Anyway," Hermione whispered, "that isn't really the interesting thing I found out."

Harry and Ron turned to face her.

"Well, what was?" Ron asked. Hermione pointed to the newspaper now lying in Harry's plate of scrambled eggs. It was a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Check out the headline," Hermione said, encouragingly. Harry read it, and suddenly Ginny's revelation about Draco's mysterious disappearance made perfect sense.

Malfoy Manor Attacked!

Earlier last night, You-Know-Who made his move against the Malfoys' estate in Wiltshire, leaving the place in smouldering ruins and severely injuring Narcissa Malfoy. She is currently in St. Mungo's, having undergone treatment, and is in a stable condition. Her husband, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, was charged last June with attempted armed theft of the Ministry of Magic and use of the Unforgivable curses against minors, and was consequently sentenced to Azkaban prison, from which he mysteriously vanished and is now on the run. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic said in a statement earlier this morning:

'It only goes to show that those who are in cahoots with You-Know-Who are not necessarily free from his wrath. I think this should be a sterling example to those who may think siding with him is a good idea.'

One possible victim was spared from the same fate, however by a curious turn of events. Draco Malfoy, son of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, should have been home for the Easter holidays, but stayed on at Hogwarts, apparently for extra tutoring, according to Narcissa Malfoy:

'At first, I was upset that my son wouldn't be joining me for the holiday,' she said just a few hours ago, 'but now I'm just so relieved that the school were doing what they considered necessary for my son's education, otherwise he might have ended up here too.'

However, there are some, albeit unreliable, sources that claim the attack was not You-Know-Who's doing. Alastor Moody, a veteran Auror who examined the case stated:

'That's not V*******t's work, look at that flaming curse! It spells out a message that seems more like a threat to V*******t and his followers than one from them. Look at it- 'From fiery vengeance, we shed blood upon this land, for that which is taken from us, shall be repaid by our hand'? Seems fishy to me.'

The Ministry urge people not to panic, as numerous Aurors have been put on the case and resolve to discover the source of the attack and punish those responsible immediately, providing it isn't You-Know-Who.

Harry was astounded.

"Wow, the Malfoys were attacked? How fitting," he replied, viciously. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer family," he added. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Haven't you noticed the most important part?" she asked, impatiently. Harry scratched his head whilst Ron shrugged his shoulders opposite.

"Enlighten us," Ron suggested to Hermione, who took him up on his offer.

"Well," she said, "look at the article. 'From fiery vengeance, we shed blood upon this land, for that which is taken from us, shall be repaid by our hand'? Didn't Luna mention that rhyme on the train to Hogwarts in September?"

Ron looked stunned.

"You aren't suggesting it was her, are you?" he asked. Hermione looked at him with mild distaste.

"No, of course not, Ron. I'm suggesting that Luna might have the answers, though."

She said this last sentence rather quietly, and Ron pounced upon it as though it were a freshly made Honeydukes chocolate bar.

"Hermione?" he asked, in mock astonishment, "are you suggesting that Luna Lovegood may know something relevant that didn't come from a book?"

Hermione blushed.

"I'm saying that perhaps we should ask her what else she knows about the Brethren of Tyr," she replied.

So, later that day Harry, Ron and Hermione interrupted a relieved Ginny and Luna from their revision and asked for their help. Luna, especially, had been most amused to watch Hermione sweetly admit that she had perhaps been a little hasty concerning Luna's insistence that the Brethren of Tyr really existed, and Harry recalled Ron's slack-jawed expression at seeing Hermione admit she was wrong with some amusement. After bribing the two fifth years with offers of revision tuition and a large bag of Honeydukes confectionary for their trouble, Ginny and Luna agreed to help them research the Brethren of Tyr.

"Anyway," Ginny said as the five of them entered the library, "it beats doing revision, even if it is just reading more books."

"If there are any books on the Brethren," Luna chimed in. "They aren't shrouded in mystery for nothing, you know."

"Well, let's start with the myth first," Hermione suggested, "That must point somewhere..."

Three and a half hours, twenty-two musty leather-bound books and a handful of newspaper cuttings later, Hermione shuffled her crib notes and read them aloud.

"Right," she announced, "this is what we've got. About a thousand years ago, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin founded Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft. Around a decade or so later, Salazar left the school and the others became a little estranged from each other. Now, why did that happen?"

Ron shrugged.

"Maybe because Slytherin was a racist bigot who didn't want to teach Muggle-borns?" he offered in a voice laced with sarcasm. Luna sniggered, but Hermione shook her head.

"Not exactly- listen to this," she said, pulling out one of the heavy books she had stuck a newspaper cutting in as a makeshift bookmark, and opened it at the appropriate page. She traced the words with her finger and found the passage she was after.

"It says here, 'Salazar Slytherin believed Muggle-borns to be untrustworthy, and with some good cause. Tales of witch burning and persecution by Muggles was starting to reach the ears of the wizarding community and many felt uneasy. Slytherin thought they needed to take drastic action, which offended his good friend Godric Gryffindor, who himself had married a Muggle-born witch and had a half-blood daughter who attended the school. Her name was Geraldine, and was particularly adept at Potions, which was Salazar's particular field of expertise. The two had been working closely together during her sixth year at Hogwarts on a cure for consumption, and somehow invented the Draught of the Living Dead during their abortive efforts.'"

"Oh," Harry commented, feeling the tale was a little anti-climactic. Hermione grinned darkly at him.

"Oh no," she replied, "It gets better. Turns out the rift between Godric and Salazar only erupted once Godric found out exactly how close the master and pupil had been working together."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, his eyebrows creasing with thought. Hermione looked at him slyly.

"I mean the two were romantically involved. Listen to this- there are some snippets of love-letters exchanged between the two that were found when the Hogwarts grounds were renovated. Some rupturing of the floors and walls of the building during the casting of improvement spells in the nineteenth century revealed this evidence."

She cleared her throat and began to read out from the book that contained these notes.

"Here's the first one.

My Darling Geraldine,

Damn you and your charms, for I am powerless against your wishes- a man possessed by desire and blinded by a love so potent, it has caused me to disregard all reason. I reside here to be a teacher in the field of potions and draughts, not to be a student myself in the art of love. Your youth has indeed corrupted me, my love, for I grow hot where I should remain cold and become restless when I should remain still. Your beauty compels me; your intelligence confounds me and I am left a shell of a man, my heart quickening as though struck with fever, a fever only your touch, your kiss will ever cure. Though I fear for your attachment to me, it is not right nor maidenly, I am too weak-willed to repel you and think at once I should leave my seat of learning, if only so I may pursue you with purity of spirit, and Godric be hanged! Until tonight, my dear, may you wear the mantle of my love as I wear yours, but let it shield you, not weight you down.

Your humble servant,

Salazar."

"Ooh, how romantic! What did Geraldine have to say about that?" Ginny asked, enthusiastically. Hermione traced along the page a little further.

"I think she was pleased," she replied, "listen to this one.

Salazar, my Lord and Master,

You charm me yourself with your thoughts of fancy (for I hardly fancied myself as such a temptress!) though I beg of you not to consider leaving your learned position, nor think to harm my father in your passion (I jest, of course; the meaning of your words is quite clear to me). The walls of this hallowed place do confine me so; I feel their very weight press hard upon my chest and I do so yearn to be free. With you, my dear, I am free and if you should leave, when would I ever see you? Once, twice a year, if at all- no, I will not tolerate that. The fleeting moments we share each night grow too little as it is, and I do miss you so when the dawn rises, and we must continue our charade. Pray, never leave me, dear Salazar, for I am yours until the end of time, and so you must be mine the very same.

In love and honour,

Geraldine."

Hermione closed the book and sighed,

"It sounds as though it was very passionate," she replied, with a twinge of admiration. Ginny and Luna simultaneously sighed dreamily.

"Forbidden love, is there anything more heart-tugging?" Ginny asked. Luna nodded.

"Maybe unrequited love," she replied, wisely, "but I must say my insides have gone kind of gooey. It's so romantic!"

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Isn't it just!" she exclaimed.

Ron's facial expression was a picture of horror.

"It's minging, that's what it is!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the desk. "It's like... like... I dunno, Hermione; you and Snape running away together!" he exclaimed. Harry felt his face twist horribly in conjunction with the disgusting mental image he now had burned into his forebrain. One swift glance at Ginny, Hermione, and Ron confirmed he was not alone.

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, glaring at him.

"Sometimes, I sicken myself," he replied, looking into the distance.

"Hmm- I suppose he's sort of handsome in a not very handsome way," Luna thought out loud. Ron looked at her in palpable disgust. She continued to muse dreamily.

"In a 'use your imagination you could probably get there' sort of..."

"Luna, shush!" Ron hissed, suppressing her musings.

Desperate to try and forget the quite worrying scene that he had just pictured in his head of Snape confessing his love to a smitten Hermione whilst he was trying to make a wit-sharpening potion during class, Harry turned to face Hermione.

"What else does it say? And can we not hear any more of those letters, please?" he asked, fervently. Hermione smiled at him.

"Of course," she replied, shutting the book she was reading and pulling out another one.

"Apparently, according to the documented history on the Hogwarts founders- by which I mean the documented history not included in 'Hogwarts: A History," she added, glancing at a beaming Luna. "Godric did find out about his best friend and his daughter's clandestine affair, and he was furious. He stormed into one of Salazar's classes and challenged him to a duel there and then in the classroom..."

"Wonder what that reminds me of?" Ron added, sarcastically, clearly remembering Beauchamp and Snape facing off last year. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I don't remember Beauchamp storming into our classroom demanding that Snape either 'die at my sword or face the seventh circle of Hell, you treacherous whoreson!'" At this, Hermione badly mimed the act of waving a sword, which coincided with Ron's ears suddenly turning red.

"Hermione," he whispered, "that looks really dirty, you know..."

Hermione suddenly stopped what she was doing, blushed crimson, and returned to explaining the book in front of her.

"Anyway, Godric Gryffindor basically gave Salazar Slytherin an ultimatum- leave his daughter, or find himself impaled on the end of his sword."

"Tough choice," Harry replied, not without sarcasm. "Which did he take?"

"Neither," Hermione said, her eyes glued to the book in front of her. "He and Geraldine eloped that very night, Salazar evidently safe in the knowledge that he had set up the Chamber of Secrets here already. The relationship between the founders was never quite the same after that. However, Salazar still worked hard to protect wizards and witches even when he left Hogwarts. He formed the Knights of Walpurgis..."

"Oh, I've heard of them!" Ron butted in, "didn't they have a hit with 'Baby, Can I Make Your Wand Sing'?"

Hermione looked at him with mild distain.

"No," she replied, simply, "the Knights of Walpurgis were an elite order of supreme wizards who went around preventing angry Muggle lynch mobs and vigilante groups from causing too much havoc against innocent wizards and witches. Trouble is, their idealism became supremacy, and the Knights used their position and knowledge to strike terror into the hearts of Muggles; baiting, attacking and killing them. In some cases, they did much worse things. A few years later, it all came to a head, and a huge war broke out that involved all the founders, Salazar included, that pitched Muggle against wizard."

She looked at the book in front of her again and read aloud.

"It says, 'During the Battle of Forth Valley, Geraldine, herself a half-blood, was killed by a pure-blood Knight, who laughed as he did so.'"

"Wow," Ginny said, looking downcast. "How's that for irony?"

Hermione continued.

"'Salazar killed the Knight with a single curse to the head and, wracked with grief for his young wife, uttered the words: From fiery vengeance, we shed blood upon this land, for that which is taken from us, shall be repaid by our hand. So, the Brethren of Tyr was born, out of the ashes of the now fragmented Knights of Walpurgis. They were a group of highly skilled Muggles and Muggle-born wizards and witches, marked with a tattoo of a blazing sun pierced by a chain wrapped around their upper arms, who set out to protect their people from the remaining maniacal pure-blood Knights of Walpurgis. Sadly, they too became corrupted, for their idealism turned to vengeance, as many of the Brethren had lost loved ones during that fateful war. The Brethren began to strike terror into the hearts of the pureblood wizards and witches in much the same way as the Knights struck the Muggle-borns and Muggles. Salazar Slytherin died before the two factions clashed, and they did so violently. After many deaths, the Brethren were driven underground and their actions became even more of a mystery.'"

Ron sighed.

"Well, that was helpful!" he moaned. "Suddenly everything's clear. What about in the present?"

Hermione pointed to the newspaper cuttings and a slightly less earthy-smelling book.

"If you stopped interrupting me, Ron, you'd find out!" she huffed. "Now then, that 'Brief History of Our Century' book you found misfiled between the Quidditch books appears to have the answers."

Ron beamed with pride.

"Never let it be said that my research skills are minimal," he replied. Luna giggled.

"It was a very useful book," she pointed out, shyly.

"It appears," Hermione continued, "that when Voldemort began his ascent to power in the seventies, he took the mandate of the Knights of Walpurgis, and merely changed the name. The Death Eaters are essentially the Knights of Walpurgis, except with both the idealism and the supremacy present at the start."

Luna nodded enthusiastically.

"That was when the Brethren began to strike out! Fulfilling their one thousand year old vendetta against the pureblood Knights. Or, in this case, pure-blood Death Eaters," she proclaimed. Hermione smiled politely and rifled through some of the newspaper cuttings on the table they were sitting at.

"There appear to be a number of cases of attacks reported in the Daily Prophet that suggest that people involved with neither the Ministry or Voldemort were causing them. Some of the Death Eaters the Ministry claim to have caught appear to have been killed before sentencing. The Daily Prophet blames Barty Crouch Snr. However, from the description of the crime scenes, it looks likely it could well be the same group of people that attacked Malfoy Manor."

Ron's eyes widened to the size of sickles.

"You're telling me those nutters are still out there?" he gasped, frantically. Harry personally couldn't see what the problem was. The more people that were out there fighting Voldemort, the better, in his opinion, though he decided to remain quiet.

"Yes, Ron," Hermione replied, "though it appears they are not so vengeance-driven as in the eleventh century." She pointed at the newspaper reports. "The attacks were all against known Death Eaters. Their families were targeted, true, but not every time. I dug a little further, and all the family members of Death Eaters that were attacked were actively supporting Voldemort to the point of offering money and Ministry favours. They were not innocent."

"Their methods weren't much different from Crouch's, then." Harry pointed out. Hermione slid a newspaper cutting under Harry's nose.

"Take a look," she replied, coolly. What Harry saw would have made his hair stand on end, if it wasn't doing so already of its own volition.

"Nasty, isn't it?" Ginny remarked. Harry shuddered, and pushed the cutting as close to the opposite side of the table as he could.

"Yet," Hermione mused, "the severity and violence of the attacks lessened around 1980..."

Luna gasped suddenly, and both Ron and Ginny nearly jumped out of their seats in surprise.

"Ooh," she said, suddenly, "I nearly forgot about the rumours."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Which rumours?" she asked. Luna turned to face her.

"I heard from Daddy a while ago that there was a woman working in the Brethren that had escaped a Death Eater attack when she was younger."

"So?" Harry asked. Luna tutted in dismay.

"Harry!" she cried, "think about it. If she had escaped from Death Eaters, and then worked for the Brethren, why would the violence of the attacks lessen?"

Harry shrugged.

"I don't know," he replied.

Luna sighed.

"Me neither," she confessed, "but there must be something odd going on there..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Hermione's expression had suddenly taken on a frown.

"What's up?" Ginny asked, before Harry got the chance. Hermione didn't look up at either of them.

"Well, the attack on Malfoy Manor follows very similar patterns to the unexplained attacks of the seventies," she pointed out.

"Yeah," Harry prompted. Hermione was still frowning.

"And the Brethren of Tyr were reputed to be highly skilled warriors and spies- the Ministry were supposed to be crawling with them," she continued.

"Yeah."

"And Professor Beauchamp did recognise Snape as a Death Eater, as well as knowing all that really obscure stuff about vampires and..."

"And what?" Harry asked, through gritted teeth. Hermione blanched.

"And she did persuade Draco not to go home for the Easter holidays- you told me yourself," she said, quietly, "which suggests she might have known that attack would take place, and wanted to keep him out of..."

"Snape's a Death Eater?" Luna asked, her voice having suddenly lost its dreamy quality. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny looked at each other in concern.

"Erm," Ginny stuttered, "it's complicated..."

Luna shrugged, apparently unconcerned by this revelation.

"Actually, it explains a lot," she replied.

"Luna," Hermione said, tentatively, "it's really important you don't say anything- it's a very dangerous thing to know, what with things being as they are..."

Luna waved her hand across her face.

"I'm in Ravenclaw, thank you very much! I know when to keep quiet about things," she replied, slightly indignant. Hermione flushed.

"I'm sorry, Luna," she said, "I just thought I should say..."

"Still," Luna continued, clearly unaffected by Hermione's previous warning, "it does rather put a damper on that mental image I had earlier of you and Snape in his private office, if he's a Death Eater. Your parents are Muggles, aren't they?"

Hermione stared at her, open mouthed, for at least five seconds.

"Yes, they are," she said, finally, "and please don't talk about that mental image ever again."

"I second that," a clearly aghast Ron added.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Ginny asked suddenly, placing her hand gently on his arm. Harry couldn't speak. He was furious at Hermione for daring to suggest Persephone was involved with such a group of people as the Brethren of Tyr, furious at her for suggesting his own flesh and blood could have a hand in anything so violent.

He was more furious at himself, though, because he knew Hermione could very well be right.

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Game of Warlocks

"Right, this is it, we've got one chance and one chance only." Roger was pacing up and down the Quidditch changing room, minutes before the match, delivering, in Harry's opinion, one of the most terrifying pep talks he had heard in the last five and a half years of playing Seeker. Clearly, Roger was desperate to win this Staff vs. Student Quidditch match. The rest of the team stood in their robes of deep purple with lining and stitching detail of silver and black (which Ron had complained made them look 'like right ponces!'), mesmerised by his words.

"We want to win this," Roger continued, "so be mindful of the professors- they may be old, but I've been watching them practice, and they're definitely still sprightly. Madley, Smith," he barked, and Laura and Zacharias almost jumped to attention.

"You and I have got to keep our eyes open for McGonagall, Sinistra and Vector," he continued, "Sinistra and Vector are very fast, McGonagall not so much, but she's got a strong throw and is deceptive. Dumbledore is their Keeper..."

"Dumbledore!" the rest of the team said in surprise. Roger nodded.

"Yes, Dumbledore. He told me he was rather enjoying the idea, gave him a chance to 'revisit his youth', I think were his words. Anyway, he seemed to know his stuff, and if he's a good a Keeper as he is a wizard, we'll need our wits about us. Weasley."

Ron snapped to attention.

"Yes?"

"Make sure you stay focused on those Quaffles!" Roger warned, "McGonagall, Sinistra and Vector are illusory Chasers and are likely to feint a lot, so be on your guard!"

Ron snapped a mock salute.

"Harry," Roger continued, without missing a beat, "their Seeker is Flitwick. Now, he's small, so can get some great speed up, plus he's got a pretty sharp eye- I've yet to pass a note in class without him spotting it, so you really need to be quick. I've seen that Wrongski Feint you've used before- it might be a good idea to use it again."

Harry nodded. Roger turned his sharp-eyed stare to Crabbe and Goyle.

"Crabbe, Goyle- you've got the toughest job- staving off Hooch and Beauchamp. The rumour that Hooch played for the Holyhead Harpies has been flying around for ages, if you'll excuse the pun. Beauchamp... well, I've seen her in practise. One word- violent. She'll have no qualms about knocking any of you off your brooms and landing you straight in the hospital wing if it'll keep you from scoring a goal or catching the Snitch. Think Snape if you've just exploded your cauldron in his class."

The team laughed at this remark, though Harry couldn't help but feel a little uneasy about Roger's easy comparison of Persephone and Snape, and reminder to Harry of their father-daughter relationship.

"Plus, the two seem to make a pretty tight double-act, so be on your guard," Roger added.

"Who's refereeing?" Laura Madley asked. Roger grimaced.

"Snape," he replied. The team groaned.

"I wouldn't worry," Ron remarked, "I reckon he dislikes the teachers almost as much as us. He'll probably be really impartial."

This made the team laugh, until a high-pitched bell cut through the noise of their laughter. Roger looked towards the exit to the pitch.

"Well, here we go. Good luck everyone!" he offered, before leading them out onto the pitch.

Harry saw the teachers exit from their changing rooms onto the pitch, resplendent in Quidditch robes of a cream colour with gold lining and stitching. He noted with amusement they did not suit the excessively lean Persephone, for with her long dark plait of hair she resembled a spent matchstick from a distance. Snape soon exited the changing rooms, walked towards the centre of the pitch and released the Quidditch balls. He then kicked down on his broomstick, flying out in his regulation white and black referee robes, his greasy curtains of hair flapping in the wind.

"Take your positions," he commanded, and the teams obeyed. Harry watched as Roger and McGonagall shook hands. Snape blew his whistle, and the game began.

Harry watched the resulting match eagerly whilst waiting for the Snitch to turn up, and he realised that he had absolutely no idea that his teachers were such good players. Before ten minutes had passed, McGonagall and Vector had brought the score to thirty-zero in favour of the Staff team. Dumbledore appeared to be in his element, grinning like a lunatic whilst deflecting Roger Davies' many attempts to score. The crowd were on tenterhooks- clearly every student in Hogwarts wanted to see the student team beat the teachers. Eventually, a huge roar from the crowd erupted.

"...And at long last Roger Davies' efforts are rewarded, thirty-ten to the Staff!" Colin Creevey excitedly squeaked, having taken over Lee Jordan's long-standing role of Commentator since he left Hogwarts last year.

"...Oh, and here comes Zacharias Smith rushing up with the Quaffle, he passes to Madley, who passes back to Smith, he's almost at the hoops... Oooh, what a lucky escape- Beauchamp sent a Bludger that nearly knocked him off his broom, the score still remains thirty-ten..." Colin continued, and Harry wondered when, if ever, the boy needed to stop for breath.

Suddenly, he saw Laura Madley duck out of his eye line, and a Bludger nearly smacked straight into her head. Harry looked across, and saw Beauchamp was vigorously defending her team's Chasers, and Laura was not to be shown any mercy. Zacharias did not look impressed, and was trying to get Snape's attention.

"Did you see that, sir? That was..."

"Within the rules, Smith," Snape lazily shouted back. Harry didn't want to admit he was right, just the thought made him too angry. Zacharias flew off to rejoin the Chasers as they attempted a Hawkshead Attacking Formation and formed an arrow shape across the pitch as they bolted from one end to the other, passing the Quaffle to each other as they did so.

"...And the Students score again, bringing the score to thirty-twenty, the Staff still ahead..."

Harry watched as Crabbe and Goyle moved to smack a nearby Bludger towards the three opposing Chasers. They weren't quick enough, for Beauchamp sped across to their one side and knocked it clean away from their reach, towards Hooch who belted it across the pitch towards Roger Davies, preventing him from scoring. The two Staff Beaters 'high-fived' each other in triumph.

"...Ooh, Crabbe and Goyle were just a little bit too slow, Beauchamp knocked the Bludger out of their grasp, anyway, the Student Beaters are trying to knock Bludgers towards the Staff Chasers again and Beauchamp has flown straight towards them, I think that might be a..."

Snape blew hard on his whistle.

"Foul; Beauchamp, for skinning..."

Persephone flew towards him and skidded to a halt. She clearly was in disagreement over the referee's decision.

"That wasn't a foul!" she protested. Snape remained firm.

"Foul..."

"Oi!" Beauchamp shouted back, "I didn't touch them! I flew towards them to get at the Bludger!"

Snape waved his hand sharply.

"My decision is final," he spat back. Persephone rolled her eyes.

"It's a bloody outrage!" she yelled. She then proceeded to conjure a large pair of glasses out of thin air and wave them in Snape's face.

"I think you need a pair of these, ref!" she taunted.

"If you're not careful, you're going to get a warning, Beauchamp!" he retorted. Madam Hooch flew next to Persephone.

"Beauchamp, leave it!" she barked, and Persephone reluctantly agreed.

"...after that rather tense moment, the match has been resumed, Davies has the Quaffle, passes to Madley, to Smith, ooh, intercepted by McGonagall, passes to Vector, who uses the old Porskoff Ploy to pass to Sinistra, who scores! Forty-twenty to the Staff team..."

Harry sighed. At this rate, they were never going to catch up, not until he caught the...

The noise of tiny fluttering wings buzzed in his ear, he glanced sideways, and saw the Snitch gleaming in the sunlight. He went to reach for it, but it flew out of reach, so he sped up on his broomstick to chase after it. The sunlight was glaring now, obstructing his vision somewhat, but not enough for him to miss the fact that Flitwick was too late to catch the Snitch. He reached out his hand and could feel the tips of the Snitch's tiny wings tickle his fingertips...

Suddenly, he found himself spiralling down to the ground, his right temple throbbing with pain. A nearby Bludger whizzing away gave Harry an idea as to what had happened, and Colin's commentary filled in the gaps.

"Ouch! Potter takes a blow to the head from Beauchamp's Bludger, surely a foul?"

The referee didn't seem to think so, despite numerous remonstrations to the contrary. Harry wasn't surprised; he reckoned Snape was so delighted at Harry receiving a sharp blow to the head he would have given Beauchamp extra points if he had the authority to bend the rules in such a fashion.

The match seemed to go on for hours. It had gone on for so long in fact, that the watching students had started to leave the stadium in small groups to get water, making sure they left at least one friend in the stands that could fill them in on the details of the game. Worse still, the Staff team were 140 points up on the Student team and since that blow to the head- that had at least been a superficial one- Harry had not spotted the Snitch once.

At that moment, he saw Flitwick suddenly zoom down to the ground, and Harry decided he really should keep his eyes open whenever he started to think about how he hasn't seen the Snitch in a while. Kicking down on his broom, he sped off after Flitwick, until they were both zooming after the glistening Snitch.

A number of things happened simultaneously at that point. McGonagall caught the Quaffle and was about to take aim towards the goal, Goyle ducked another of Persephone's vicious Bludger blows, and Roger Davies zoomed in front of McGonagall to try and catch the Quaffle in mid-throw. Harry saw all this because Roger misjudged McGonagall's throw, and smacked clear into a peeved Persephone, who swung her bat and hit the Bludger at the wrong angle; it swooshed past Goyle, who had dropped his broom a few feet to avoid the rogue attack, knocking Harry directly in front of Flitwick, who was almost heading for a collision course with the iron Bludger now heading towards them both. Harry felt himself turn three hundred and sixty degrees in the air, lose about ten feet in height, and somehow catch something small, gold and round that flew straight into his stomach.

The crowd roared. Harry was dazed himself- they had won by a hairs breadth. Colin was so excited; his commentary was barely audible to Harry.

"...'..." he was squeaking speedily over the cheers. Harry looked fearfully over to Persephone, wondering if she would be furious. His fears were unjustified, for she appeared a very good loser, and had swooped over to him on her broom.

"Hey, Harry," she said, "well done! That was a brilliant job, I reckon Viktor would've been proud."

Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied. Persephone scrutinised him.

"Is your head okay? Sorry about that, by the way. I play rough," she explained, and Harry found himself laughing, despite the fact that he couldn't entirely shake Hermione's words about the Brethren of Tyr. Persephone could probably win this year's 'Understatement of the Year' competition with that declaration, he thought as he saw Goyle rubbing his head as Madam Pomfrey attended to him.

"You ought to get your head checked out, too," Persephone remarked, looking at the same scene Harry was.

"I'm okay," he replied, "are we still doing Occlumency practice this week?"

"Yep, if you're up to it," she replied, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She motioned with her head that she was about to land, so Harry followed her.

Before they both headed for their separate changing rooms, Harry noticed the broom she was carrying, and his eyes widened.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, "a Firebolt 2170? Where did you get that?"

Persephone grinned and tapped her nose with her finger.

"I have my sources," she joked. "Seriously, I get them off Viktor. He gets sponsored, so he'll either blag me a new broom from the manufacturers, or he'll pass on his old one when he gets an updated model. Consequently I change my broom every six months."

"Cool," he replied, with a hint of envy. Persephone smiled.

"Ah, the perks of having a Quidditch star friend," she said, with a laugh, "Rolanda was admiring it earlier, actually. See you later."

As she walked off to get changed, Roger Davies caught up with him.

"Well done, Harry!" he beamed, and then ran off to catch a slightly dejected looking Ron. Harry heard him console Ron by pointing out that the three Chasers had been practicing almost every night under the glare of Madam Hooch, and that he did really well to save the goals he did. Harry had to agree with Roger, for it had been a very tough match. He saw Hermione run onto the pitch to console Ron herself, and appeared to be doing a better job than Roger. Unfortunately, Harry also saw Draco walk up to them, and decided it might be in everyone's best interests if he got himself involved.

"Just shut it, Malfoy!" Harry heard Ron shout. He saw Draco smirk, and say something in return that caused Ron to try and launch himself on him. Hermione and Roger were holding him back, Hermione standing between the two. Just before Harry got within grabbing distance of Draco, he turned to face Hermione and tried to do something to her, but he didn't get the chance. Hermione, clearly having learnt a lot from her Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, had literally rolled him over her back, thrown him to the floor and now had a foot pressing hard against Draco's throat.

"If you learn to keep your mouth shut," Harry heard her hiss, "I'll remember to keep mine closed too."

Draco looked horrified, and Harry knew why, remembering what Hermione had told him about that incident in the library. He made a mental note to himself to remember how adept Hermione was at blackmail, having got both Rita Skeeter and Draco Malfoy now almost at her beck and call.

"What is the meaning of this?" Snape barked, having run across to sort out the source of their disturbance, Persephone in hot pursuit, clearly having abandoned any attempts to get changed.

"Let go of him, Miss Granger," he commanded, and Hermione reluctantly loosened her grip before stepping cautiously away, as though Draco was some kind of feral animal that might attack if not kept contained.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student..."

"Attacking him?" Persephone retorted, having reached the scene. "From what I saw, it was self-defence! In fact, twenty points to Gryffindor for remembering my classes so well."

Snape glared at her.

"I don't know what you were watching, Professor, but I can guarantee that Miss. Granger was unprovoked!"

"Are you sure about that?" Persephone replied, breezily, her head cocked to one side as she scrutinised Draco and Hermione, with a quick glance at Ron's now furious expression. Persephone smiled.

"Just because I find that Mr. Weasley rarely looks this angry without good reason. What say you, Harry?"

Harry nearly jumped.

"Oh, yeah- Ron doesn't get annoyed without a good reason, and he's quite protective of Hermione. Well, we both are, she's our friend, see..."

"Potter, be quiet," Snape barked.

"But, Professor Beauchamp..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for cheeking a member of staff..."

"Ten points from Slytherin for assaulting a girl!" Persephone retorted. Snape glared at her.

"Ten points to Slytherin for not rising to such provocation!"

Beauchamp snorted, and stared back.

"Ten points to Gryffindor for not providing such provocation!"

Roger Davies raised his hand casually.

"If I might pipe in..."

"Shut up, Davies!" they both retorted. Roger raised his eyebrows but remained quiet.

"Fine," Persephone announced, "two times five times the first number of the Fibonnacci sequence minus three plus the second number in the prime sequence points to Gryffindor for application of lesson practice, and the square root of three thousand four hundred and forty-nine minus the fourth number of the prime sequence divided by ten times two from Slytherin for being a letch."

Snape made a movement to answer, but no sound came from his lips. Persephone pointed at him.

"Ha!" she exclaimed in triumph, "you may be able to hold your own against me in a Wizards' Duel, but you are no match for my mental arithmetic skills."

"Just shut up and get changed," he replied, with an irritated sigh. She grinned, saluted him and walked off to the changing rooms. He followed, after warning Harry, Ron and Hermione none too pleasantly, to behave themselves. Draco walked off after Crabbe and Goyle almost immediately after.

Roger looked flummoxed.

"They do act rather oddly around each other, don't they?" he remarked, jerking his head in the direction of Snape and Persephone. Harry shrugged.

"Well, you know teachers," he replied, nervously. Roger laughed.

"True, they spend far too much time in the company of children," he said. Harry and Ron laughed a little too much at his remark.

"Well, good game, chaps, see you later," Roger said, and with that, he was gone.

"That was well weird," Ron said, "They were acting like relatives!"

"Well, they are relatives, Ron," Hermione reminded him. "Surely it's nice. It must be hard to come to terms with learning who they are to each other."

"Let's just get changed," Harry interrupted, not wanting to get into the conversation he could tell they were about to have concerning Persephone and Snape being daughter and father respectively.

"Good idea, Harry," Ron replied, "I might just go spare if I have to stand around in these purple robes much longer. Purple, I ask you!" he grumbled, as the three of them made their way to the changing rooms. 


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Tales from Beaubaxtons

That Friday evening, Harry was once again in Persephone's office awaiting his Occlumency lesson, except this time he was sat in one of her comfortable chairs, reading his mother's diary with interest.

25/09/74: Well, today was interesting! After a fortnight of trying out with completely rhythm-less boys, I've finally found a decent dance-partner for the National Wizarding Championships! And I was so shocked when I found out who it was- that weird Ravenclaw boy, Severus, the one that Black and Potter bully- vile little boys that they are. I was sceptical, and he pointed out he was only helping me because Dumbledore had made him as a punishment for something- I didn't dare ask what he had done. He was really good, though! I was stunned- he knew when, where and how to lead, plus all the basic moves and a few of the complex ones. I asked him where he had learned to dance, and he told me it was a family tradition for the children to perform dances such as the tarantella or the flamenco with each other on the Midwinter Solstice. From the way he was talking, I think he's a gypsy of some sort, but I was reluctant to press him any further- I still remember what he did to Bellatrix Black on the Hogwarts train when I first arrived here years ago. Anyway, he was super, and we might stand a chance if I can just get him a little more enthused about the whole thing...

Harry scanned over about three months worth of his mother's incessant dance training, her complaints about Snape's apathy and cold hands during their dance practice, and her usual complaints about Sirius and his dad. Suddenly, he noticed an entry that was significantly longer than the previous ones had been. Curious, he read over it more carefully than the others.

22/11/74: Oh God, what have I done? I really ache, and Severus has got his back to me. He's asleep, of course. He hasn't sat up all night worrying about what we did- why should he? What has he got to worry about? Oh, I feel so stupid!

It all started off so well, too. We didn't win the championship, but we came third, which was too groovy! I thought we did really well and looked really good together, even though Severus reminded me before we got onto the stage that he 'wasn't doing it for the good of his health'. I just smiled and told him in that case, he was very sweet for doing it for me. He didn't appreciate that, but it was funny to see his face. I'd never noticed before how easy it is to make him blush.

Anyway, we got back to the Druid Hilton, where all the dancers were staying that night before going back to their relative schools. They had miscalculated the number of rooms they needed, so I had to share one with this girl called Marie. Well, Severus helped me to my room, because I had accidentally drank a large glass of punch from the Judges' punchbowl, not the competitors' one, and I admit I felt a little squiffy. I sat down on the bed and he made me drink a couple of glasses of tap water, which didn't really help, but it did make me need the toilet. Jessica left shortly after, as she was 'meeting a friend', as she told me. Ha! More like meeting that Hans Desislav boy she had clearly been mooning over on the carriage from the dance hall to here.

Severus stayed with me for a bit, he said it was to make sure I didn't end up vomiting everywhere and get us both into trouble for my underage drinking, which I had to protest. It had been a genuine mistake- the two punch bowls looked the same! He went to leave at this point, but for some reason I grabbed his hand before he got a chance to go away. I realised I didn't really want him to leave just yet, and asked him for one last dance. I knew we'd probably never speak to each other in school again, and it seemed a shame to part without a nod to our glorious victory of third place-ness (well, I was proud of it, even if he wasn't). He rolled his eyes at me, but tapped the Wizarding Wireless box with his wand, took my hand and danced with me none the less. His hands were still as cold as ever, but I put my head against his chest, and that at least was warm.

I don't know how it happened, or why it happened, but the next thing I know, we were kissing, and I was trying to find the buttons to his robes...

It took Harry another paragraph of reading to realise what his mother's words actually meant, at which point he threw the book out of his hands as though it were a dangerous contagion and jumped up out of his seat.

"Ew, ew, eww!" he practically screamed, and felt his facial muscles tug his lips downwards into an expression usually reserved for freshly caught trout. It was at this point he noticed Persephone was sitting behind her desk, and looked as though she had been there for some time.

"Ahh, you got to the bit about the dance competition?" she commented. "I just skipped it, myself. Could well have done without knowing that I was conceived in a Hilton hotel, of all places." She shuddered with distaste.

"Yeah, well, I didn't exactly see it coming!" Harry protested. Persephone laughed.

"Word of warning, then, don't even look at her entries for August 1978," she replied breezily, "that was with your dad."

Harry quietly picked up the diary and shut it emphatically.

"I don't need to know," he announced, calmly. "I don't have any more questions about my parents' marriage, I don't need to know."

"That's the spirit, boy!" Persephone chimed. Harry smiled weakly.

"Can we just get on with the lesson now, please?" he asked. Persephone smiled.

"Of course- you know I was just waiting for you. I'd have interrupted your reading, but you looked so peaceful," she teased. Harry sighed and sat himself down on Persephone's blue mat, crossing his legs and thinking desperately about calm blue oceans.

Their attempts at Occlumency practise went astonishingly poorly for the first ten minutes or so, for Persephone kept having to stop and calm Harry down.

"For Heaven's sake, Harry," she commanded, "just stop thinking about it!"

"I'm trying!" Harry protested, "but it's really difficult!"

Persephone snorted.

"Honestly, it's a perfectly normal act- people do it every day..."

"Yeah," Harry snapped back, "but it's my mum! And him, of all people..."

"Your mum has had two children, you can guarantee she's done it at least twice in her lifetime."

Harry covered his face with his hands in horror.

"You're not helping, you know!"

Persephone shrugged.

"I'm just saying..."

"Well, don't!"

Harry sighed and looked up at Persephone.

"Do you know, I have Potions lessons with your father three times a week, and do you know what I think about every time I see him?"

Persephone shook her head.

"Nope, but I've a feeling you're about to enlighten me."

"I look at him and think, 'You've had sex with my mum. Whatever you think of me and I think of you, you've still had sex with my mum.' It's horrible!"

"Might I make a suggestion?" Persephone offered. Harry shrugged.

"Go on, then."

"That you don't think about it? I know you don't like the man, but thinking like that is just going to leave you a nervous wreck! I don't think about it, and come on, at least your parents loved each other..."

Harry suddenly felt very ashamed. He hadn't once considered how all these revelations might have affected Persephone. The woman currently staring at him must have noticed his expression, for she smiled at him.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she replied, "Porphyria and Fran?ois raised me. Although I did see Lily and Severus fairly often before my first death, they werent my guardians, if you get my drift. I just don't have that kind of bond with either of them."

Harry knew this was meant to comfort him, but he felt worse than ever at her admission. Though he was too young to remember much of his parents, at least he felt some kind of bond with them, some sense of belonging to them. Persephone evidently didn't have that, and Harry thought it terribly sad.

"Right," Persephone said, rubbing her hands together. "Let's try again."

This time, Harry was able to relax and clear his mind with relative ease, and they spent a fairly long time battling each other's mental powers, going back and forth through each other's memories too quickly to notice what any of them were about, until Persephone hit upon a couple of memories suddenly prominent in Harry's mind; his Aunt Marge floating away, with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia shouting down at her, then one of him grabbing his wand, which had lit up on the ground, whilst trying to escape the Dementors at Privet Drive the year before last...

"You did wandless magic as a teenager?" Harry heard Persephone ask, through the midst of their mental struggle. Harry felt himself reply in the affirmative, though Persephone said no more about it.

All of a sudden, Harry hit upon another memory, one that he couldn't ascertain whether it belonged to him or Persephone. It was of a warm living room, with a blazing fire happily burning away in a wrought-iron fireplace. A small dark-haired boy was sitting in the lap of a larger dark-haired girl, who was sat upon a rug. She was holding his hand, which gripped at a card from the deck lying next to him, and manoeuvring it towards a precariously balanced set of cards, shaped like a house.

"It's all about steady hands," the girl was cooing, as they both reached out to balance the card. The small boy loosened his grip suddenly, and the card fluttered onto the others, knocking them over and causing a huge 'boom' to sound out from the living room. The girl gave the boy a look of mock irritation, and he clapped his small hands together, giggling.

A red-haired woman whom Harry instantly recognised as his mother ran into the room.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed, looking at the two children. She smiled, but looked at the girl with concern.

"Oh do be careful, Seph," she said. "You don't want to scare him!"

'Seph' seemed unconcerned.

"Oh don't be silly, mother," she retorted. "He won't be scared. He's my little brother, and no little brother of mine is going to be a wuss, see!"

Lily smiled at the laughing boy.

"Well, as long as you're both careful..."

Harry looked up at Persephone, their link suddenly broken.

"Wow," he replied.

"Tell me about it!" she said, before asking, "Was that yours or mine?"

Harry shrugged.

"Couldn't tell."

"Me neither."

There was a short pause, before Persephone suddenly spoke.

"So, that's what our mum looked like?" she asked, miming the shape of Lily's hair with her hands. Harry nodded.

"Yeah- haven't you seen any photos?" he asked. Persephone shook her head.

"No, Severus didn't have any," she replied. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"You mean she had his child, but he never bothered to take a photo of her?" he asked, his voiced edged with fury. Persephone looked straight at him.

"He did have one or two photos, I think, but he burned them all before he turned against Voldemort."

Harry was bewildered by this.

"Why?" he asked.

"I suppose if you're going to be a spy, the last think you want to do is have any information concerning anyone you have known, especially if that person is the Secret Keeper for your child's existence. Destroying such evidence would keep them safe," she replied, and Harry saw her point. After a few moments of thought, he stood up and went over to his school bag, and pulled out a well-worn photo album.

"I've got a few of my parents. You're welcome to see them, if you like," he offered, feeling a little awkward. Persephone smiled gratefully.

"That would be nice," she replied. Harry handed her the photo-album and she flicked through it with interest, stopping suddenly at one photograph. The one of his parents' wedding, with Sirius Black as the best man.

"Is that..." she began to ask, but Harry cut her off.

"Sirius Black, yes," he replied, almost challenging her to say something derogatory about his godfather. She scrutinised the photograph further.

"Wow, he made a handsome psychopath, didn't he?" she said, in a tone of sadness that struck Harry as somewhat odd, considering most of the wizarding world considered him an evil killer at large. However, before Harry even got a chance to be annoyed by her derogatory description of his late godfather, she quickly commented that their mother was rather pretty, actually, and it was a pity neither of her children had inherited that from her.

"I think we got the ugly genes from our fathers, mate. Though I think you fared better than me," she laughed.

"I don't think you're ugly," Harry replied, "just..."

"Odd looking?" she offered.

"I was going to say 'striking'," he replied. Persephone smiled.

"Polite term for odd-looking, Harry," she said with a grin, and Harry found himself laughing along with her. Suddenly, she got up and went towards her desk.

"Seeing as we're sharing photos," she said, "would you like to see some of mine? I have old school ones that are a bit of a laugh."

"Sure," Harry replied, as Persephone handed him a large, leather-bound photo-album. He opened it and saw a picture of her with what must have been a young Viktor Krum. They were grinning and waving their new Nimbus 1010 brooms with pride.

"Ahh, the good old days of the humble Nimbus 1010- we nicknamed it the 'Nim-ten-ten'," Persephone replied, noticing Harry's expression. However, this was not what had struck Harry. He was more surprised at how Viktor Krum resembled the vision of Snape he had seen in his pensieve last year; the hooked nose, the dark hair, the pale skin, the rounded shoulders and general awkwardness- even down to the same surly expression, which he had worn before Persephone had prodded him into smiling for the photograph.

"He looks like Snape did!" Harry said in surprise. Persephone peered at the photo and laughed.

"So he does! Actually, I'd noticed that before," she announced.

"When?" Harry asked. Persephone smiled.

"I was in Dumbledore's office, you know, when the big bad Snape family row broke out. Aunt Porphyria and Severus were really going for each other, Uncle Francois hadn't arrived yet, and I just decided to ignore them, and was looking at Dumbledore's collection of year photographs- he had one of the third year back in 1973, I think it was, and my first thoughts were 'What on Earth is Viktor doing in this photo?' Then I realised it was taken in Hogwarts during 1973 and that the caption underneath stated it was Severus Snape. It's pretty weird, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, and mutely decided never, ever to tell Hermione of this fact. He quickly flicked to further on in the photo album, and found a photo dated back to 1986. It was clearly after a Quidditch match, and featured Persephone and another girl, both dressed in pale blue and lilac Quidditch robes, proudly holding a trophy aloft. Harry was drawn to the other girl- she was very pretty, with bobbed blonde hair and a dimpled smile. She had eyes of a hue so bright, it was difficult to tell exactly where she was staring, and she also looked very short, though that could just have been because she was standing next to the rather statuesque Persephone.

Persephone leaned over Harry's shoulder and smiled knowingly.

"Ah, you've noticed Faith, then?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Is that her name?" he asked.

"Yep. She was my best friend at Beaubaxtons. We bonded because we were the only English girls in a sea of French students, and boy, were the French students annoying! Well, I tell a lie. Most were cool, really, but some were really up themselves and such wusses!" she moaned.

"How so?" Harry asked. Persephone grinned and put on a very good French accent.

" 'Oh, zat dreadful Perzephone'- most of them couldn't pronounce my name- 'Zat Perzephone, she 'eet me wiz zat Bludger so very 'ard, I zink I might faint!' This is when a Bludger would have brushed past them! At Durmstrang, you bloody well got up and carried on if it broke your head open!"

Harry stifled a giggle. At least Hogwarts sounded like a happy medium between the two schools Persephone attended.

"Don't let her good looks fool you," Persephone continued, "she's an absolute genius! I'm talking beyond clever- the things she can come up with! I've never met anyone like her before or since. I chat to her a lot about this place- you know, she find it utterly fascinating!"

Harry purposefully closed the photo album to stop himself staring at the pretty girl, but a niggling thought in the back of his mind at the mention of her name didn't leave him for a few minutes.

Suddenly, there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Persephone ordered. The door opened, and Harry saw that Augustine Dougherty was stood in the doorway.

"Percy," Augustine said, in an oddly respectful tone.

"Yes?" she asked. He looked at Harry, then appeared to carefully choose his words.

"I've found the folks that let her do it," he replied, cryptically. Persephone looked baffled for a moment, and then suddenly, her eyes narrowed in fury.

"Good, thank you, Augustine," she said, getting up and grabbing her thick woollen cloak.

"Harry, I've got to go out for a while, I'm afraid. I'll be back soon... Could you do me a favour and just put my photo album away? I'd rather not leave it lying around. Don't worry about locking up when you've finished- all you need to do is shut the door on your way out, a locking spell will activate automatically."

"Sure thing," Harry replied, offering a mock salute, which Persephone returned in good humour, before following Augustine out of her office, muttering under her breath about how 'she needs looking after', and 'it's a job to be taken very seriously, as 'she' is no invalid.'

Once she had left, Harry gathered up her photo album and wondered where he could put it, before deciding on her desk drawer. It was around this point that he suddenly registered something rather odd about Persephone's brief mention of Sirius Black.

She described him in the past tense.

'He made a handsome psychopath, didn't he?'.

She knew he was dead, and that's why she had sounded saddened. In Harry's eyes, it confirmed that the scroll she received at Halloween last year really had been from him. Shocked and angry, he yanked open the middle drawer of her desk to put her photo album away, and to find a piece of paper that he could write a note on asking her to explain exactly why she knew of his godfather's demise, when he noticed the base of the drawer didn't lie entirely flush with the walls of it. He grabbed a nearby dagger from Persephone's wall of weapons. Gently, he teased the blade between the minute gap and pushed upwards. The drawer base came away, leaving a much deeper space stuffed with papers.

He pulled some of them out, and was stunned by their contents. She had reams of cuttings from the Daily Prophet, all dating back to the Death Eater trials that occurred during the early eighties. There were paper folders in the drawer too, and Harry opened one to find an extensive file on Lucius Malfoy, that amongst other things, had current sightings noted in an obscure timeline. He opened another; it was all about Walden Macnair, and he noticed the word 'Faith' had been scrawled across one of the pieces of paper, and underlined thrice. He began to look around, seeing if he could spot one on Snape, but was distracted before he could by another single piece of parchment. It had a list of thirty-odd names, maybe more. Harry skim-read it, and saw familiar names such as Regulus Black (which had been crossed out), Igor Karkaroff (which had a small cross next to it, and the words 'not bloody likely, let's face it!' written next to it in impossibly tiny scrawl), Bellatrix Lestrange (this time a really odd symbol that Harry couldn't make out) and Severus Snape, which Harry noticed had a large question mark next to his name.

He would have thought more about this, had he not then found that all too familiar parchment with the broken metallic seal. He grabbed it hungrily and scoured its contents.

Hello Beauchamp,

Well, I've gone and snuffed it, but not before I got to see the 'Prophet. She's free- well done, you've got more balls than I gave you credit for. My humblest apologies, but please accept my admiration.

Anyway, looks like you now owe me a favour, and I'm afraid now is about the time I'm going to pull it in. You know what I ask of you- do me proud.

Sirius,

X x x

Harry's anger suddenly left him, and was replaced with utter confusion. What did Sirius do for Persephone? Who was free? And what did he want her to do in return?

By the time Harry had made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, it was around midnight, and his head was still spinning with the, quite frankly, odd discoveries he had made of his half-sister. He had waited in her office, hoping she would return, but sadly she did not. By quarter to twelve, he decided he ought to give up and try to find her tomorrow. Whatever happened, he wanted answers.

Ron was sat up waiting for him. Hermione had attempted to as well, although she had apparently fallen asleep over a pile of schoolwork.

"Hey, Harry," Ron whispered, before pointing at Hermione's sleeping frame. "I was about to take her up to her dormitory room, but then I remembered the whole 'stairs-turning-to-slides' thing, and thought better of it. We can't just wake her though, that'd be cruel; she looks so peaceful. Plus," he added, "this way she can't pester me about my schoolwork or about S.P.E.W."

Harry sat down and told Ron about everything he had found in Persephone's desk. Ron's eyes widened in shock the further Harry got into his story. Once he had finished, Ron appeared speechless. Eventually, he managed to speak.

"Blimey! So she's working for someone- maybe Dumbledore, or the Ministry, or..." He trailed off, though Harry knew what he was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. Or the Brethren of Tyr.

"It's mad though, isn't it?" Ron asked, uncertainly. Harry shrugged his shoulders. The more he thought about it, the less mad it seemed. Persephone was the one who persuaded Draco to stay at Hogwarts during the Easter holidays when Malfoy Manor was attacked, after all. Plus, she was the one who figured out Snape had been a Death Eater in her first term of working with him. There was also the huge desk drawer of biographical evidence of at least thirty active and not-so-active Death Eaters.

"We don't even know they exist," Ron added, quietly. Harry shrugged his shoulders again. There was only one way they could get answers to this, and that was to ask the woman.

He glanced across at Hermione again, who was still fast asleep. He smiled at her, though she couldn't see, and leant over to see if he could slip a cushion between her arm and head and a warm throw over her body, so he would at least feel a little better about leaving her there to sleep off her academic overload. It was about then that he noticed what she was asleep on.

A Muggle newspaper lay under her. Harry gingerly lifted up her arm and pulled it out from under her, looking at the writing on it. The paper was 'The Observer' and had a note attached to it from Hermione's parents.

Dear Hermione,

Hope this helps answer your question. It was a simply vile attack that killed them; we were horrified anyone could do such a thing, which is mainly why we left Bradford to live in Ludlow at the time. I still miss them, even now- we used to baby-sit their little one, you know. I must admit I'm a little concerned as to why you're so interested- you aren't suffering problems at school are you?

Love, Mum

X x x

Harry lifted up the note and saw the paper was dated December 1979. It was about then he read the headline and spotted something that thickened the proverbial plot.

Ridley Family Killed in Mysterious Blaze.

Yesterday evening, the Ridley family from Bradford were killed in a horrific fire that swept through their home. Yolanda and Terrence Ridley were a married couple with one child, who ran a local dental practitioners in the town, and were well respected by their neighbours.

'It's a sad state of affairs when a whole family is killed by vicious thugs just because of the colour of their skin. Who cares if Yolanda was black and Terrence was white, the Ridleys were such a lovely couple, so kind and generous, and they had such a darling child, must've been about to take O levels. It makes me sick to my stomach that people could do such a thing- the culprits are no better than animals, in my opinion!' an elderly lady said to our reported today.

The coroner's reading is puzzling, for a statement released today says that the cause of death in still unconfirmed. No marks were found on the bodies, yet they were confirmed dead on arrival at the local hospital. Police are still hunting for their missing child, known only to 'The Observer' as Alex Ridley. Full details will be released in a police statement later this afternoon.

So, it looked like Hermione's parents had known who Alex Ridley was, but why did Persephone? Harry scrutinised the photograph of the Ridley home more closely, and saw to his horror that it had indeed been a racist attack, but not the kind The Observer had assumed.

In the corner of the black and white picture, almost out of shot, was a ghostly grey image of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, lighting the night sky above their roof.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Faith at Hogwarts Part Two

"Well, I'd imagine Alex was a Muggle born wizard- that at least would explain the attack. Perhaps if I do a search through the new intakes for Wizarding schools in Europe during the 1970's..." Hermione was muttering to herself as she searched through the public records of all the European wizarding schools. Ron sighed and looked up to the ceiling, Harry stayed standing where he was. Truth be known, he was quite curious as to what Hermione's search would bring up.

Suddenly, Hermione made a noise that suggested she had found something of interest.

"Harry," she asked, not looking up.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Did Professor Beauchamp specifically state whether Alex was male?"

Harry thought about this.

"I don't think so," he replied. Hermione grinned in triumph and showed Harry a section of the book she was scanning through, on which Harry could make out the words 'Beaubaxtons Academy 1970-1990'.

"According to these records," she continued, "an Alexandra Ridley attended Beaubaxtons from 1975 to 1982, and during the academic year of 1979 to 1980, she didn't return back to school until the second week of the spring term! That does correlate with her going missing from Bradford in the December of 1979. I wonder if there is any information on what happened to her in the Daily Prophet or 'L'Oracle Quotidien'..." She trailed off, lost in her thoughts as she began to scan down the labels of the filing cabinets under the 'European Media' section of the library archives.

Ron was looking at his watch.

"Come on, Hermione, it's a Hogsmeade weekend, the library will still be open this evening, can't this wait?" he asked. Hermione glared at him.

"No, it can't," she replied, simply, before going back to her books. Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged.

"She's interested," he said, "and I can't say I blame her."

"Why can't she be interested this evening?" Ron retorted.

Hermione slammed her book down in annoyance.

"Fine," she retorted, "just go to Hogsmeade and I'll meet you in the Three Broomsticks at two o'clock. I am trying to work here, and you're just distracting me!"

Ron pulled a face.

"Well, fine, we'll do that then!" he snapped back, storming out of the library. Harry shrugged an apology at Hermione, before running after Ron.

"Is it that much of a crime to want to enjoy the one weekend a term we get to leave the school grounds?" Ron asked, once Harry had caught up with him. Harry shrugged.

"You know what Hermione is like once she gets her teeth into something, she's like a dog with a bone. She won't let it go until she's ready," he replied.

They passed the staircase leading to the second floor, when Harry grabbed Ron's arm.

"Do you mind if I just see if Persephone's in her office?" he asked. Ron sighed.

"Oh, all right," he replied, in mild irritation, changing direction and ascending the staircase.

The door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom was shut. Harry knocked loudly on the door, but received no response. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He cursed loudly, causing Ron to raise his eyebrows, which was a feat in itself.

"We'll come back after Hogsmeade," Ron suggested. "She's bound to be back by then."

Harry sighed.

"I hope so," he replied, darkly, before following Ron down the stairs and out to the Hogwarts' grounds.

They crossed the now familiar line between the school gates, and watched their names jump from the blackboard labelled 'in', to the blackboard labelled 'out' and continued down to Hogsmeade village. It was a pleasant walk, for the trees were now covered in thick green leaves and the flowers were almost in full bloom, not to mention the weather was quite clement, which although it is to be expected during the month of May, wasn't a common occurrence where they were situated.

After spending a pleasant morning buying copious amounts of confectionary from Honeydukes, and passing the Shrieking Shack and recalling not-so fond memories of finding out the rather disturbing link between Peter Pettigrew and the seemingly innocuous Scabbers the rat, Harry and Ron made their way to The Three Broomsticks to meet Hermione.

"It's only half past one," Ron remarked as he pushed the door to The Three Broomsticks open. "She's not going to be here yet."

"Oh well," Harry said, "we can at least get a table and wait for her."

"Fair play," Ron replied, sitting down at a table near the door and leaving Harry to go up to the bar. He eventually managed to make eye contact with Madam Rosmerta, who smiled at him.

"Well, hello, young Harry," she greeted, "how are you, love?"

"Fine thanks," Harry replied. Madame Rosmerta beamed.

"That's good to hear. Now, what can I get you?"

"Two Butterbeers, please," Harry requested. Madam Rosmerta smiled at him knowingly.

"Just you and Ron today?" she enquired. Harry nodded, though he was puzzled.

"How did you know?" he asked, knowing full well that as he, Ron and Hermione often entered The Three Broomsticks together, Madame Rosmerta had a choice of two people that might be missing from his company. The woman pointed across the other side of the pub, and Harry was stunned at what he saw. It just wasn't possible.

"Well," she replied, "they've been here for the past half hour, seeing. I know a first date when I see one- and I suppose you two are checking up on her?" she teased.

Harry simply couldn't form a reply. He took off his glasses, breathed on them, rubbed them against his robes, and put them on again, but he still saw the same thing. Hermione was sat at a table in the far end of The Three Broomsticks, talking intently with Draco Malfoy.

"I take it you didn't know, then?" Madam Rosmerta said, her expression changing from knowing amusement to genuine sympathy. Harry shook his head slowly.

"Not a clue," he replied, absently, before remembering to pay for the drinks and taking them over to Ron.

"What took you so long?" Ron asked, as Harry put a foaming tankard of Butterbeer in front of him. He briefly contemplated not even mentioning to Ron what he saw, for he knew it would just cause even more trouble, but just couldn't keep it to himself. He pointed across to the far side of the bar.

"Let's just say Hermione hasn't been spending that last half-hour in the library," he replied. Ron squinted to see through the dim light, and his expression suddenly turned sour, which suggested to Harry that he had seen the same thing he had.

"What the hell does she think she's playing at?" Ron asked, indignantly. Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"I really don't know..."

Ron had already stood up, his expression now livid.

"Right," he almost snarled, "I'm going to have words with our so-called chum. Hanging out with Malfoy, of all people- whatever happened to loyalty amongst friends, huh?"

Before Harry could stop him, Ron had stormed over to where Hermione and Draco were sitting and chatting intimately.

"What the hell is going on?" Ron demanded, slamming his fist on the table. Draco smirked.

"What's your problem, Weasel? We were just getting to know each other," he drawled. Ron looked even more furious. Draco leaned over, so only Ron and Harry could hear him.

"She's all right, you know, for a Mudblood. I can see why you two spend do much time with her, even if all you could get her to do for you was your homework..."

Ron and Harry simultaneously pulled out their wands and aimed them at a now sniggering Draco, although his eyes darted between the two nervously. Hermione stood up and waved her hand dismissively.

"Oh, Harry, Ron, do calm down!" she protested, "Draco and I are just having a chat. We're sorting stuff out- I'm sure you understand."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, wide eyed in shock. She smiled.

"Look, I'll be fine, don't worry, I'll see you later," she replied, her eyes glancing around the room excitedly, before she took Draco's hand in hers and motioned for him to stand up, which he obeyed.

"C'mon, Draco," she said, "we should go."

Harry and Ron watched in utter horror as the two walked out of the pub, Draco with the smuggest expression Harry had ever seen outside of Lockhart's promotional photographs plastered over his face, Hermione smiling serenely, suggesting that they go to the Slytherin common room.

"I'd so like to see it, and anyway, it's bound to be quiet there. No one will spot us," she continued as they exited the pub.

Ron stormed back over to the table they had been sitting at, downed his Butterbeer in one and walked towards the exit, Harry having to almost jog to keep up with his long strides.

"That girl!" Ron raged as they walked towards Hogwarts. "First Viktor, now Malfoy- when's it going to end?"

Harry had to admit it was puzzling, not to say quite a betrayal, especially after everything she had confided in Harry about concerning Draco and his behaviour in the library. Yet it just didn't make sense somehow- why would Hermione willingly spend any amount of time with Draco, the boy who has spent the past five years insulting her heritage?

They crossed the line between the Hogwarts gates, and their names jumped from the 'out' blackboard to the 'in' blackboard, though neither of them noticed it. At that point, Harry noticed a familiar bushy haired girl walking towards them, looking puzzled as she recognised them.

"Harry, Ron?" she asked, "I thought we were meeting at the..."

Ron pushed past her.

"Don't play games with us, we're not stupid!" he spat as he walked away. Hermione looked hopefully at Harry.

"What's going on?" she asked.

Harry glared at her.

"We saw you in The Three Broomsticks with Malfoy. According to Madam Rosmerta, you'd both been there quite a while," he replied, tartly. Hermione's expression was one of utter bewilderment.

"You can't have done!" she protested. "I've only just left the library!"

"We saw what we saw. Trying to act like we're blind as well as stupid?" Ron retorted, nastily. Hermione looked genuinely crushed at his remarks.

"But I wasn't there!" she continued to protest. Harry softened a little at this.

"Hermione, we saw you," he replied, as gently as he could, considering his fury. She appeared to think about this.

"Alright, what was I wearing, then?" she asked, folding her arms and waiting for a response. Harry struggled to recall what clothing she had been in when they had seen her in The Three Broomsticks.

"Those jeans and that purple jumper you've got with the white stripe across the front," Ron replied, kicking at the gravel on the path. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Ron, I've got at least three pairs of these jeans, plus I only just lent that jumper you're talking about to Ginny. She's gone up to my dormitory to fetch it. Are you saying I put those clothes on, went to meet Malfoy in The Three Broomsticks, then rushed back here to get changed, told your sister to borrow the jumper I was wearing and then ran down here to bump into you and feign innocence over the whole thing?" she asked.

"That's about the shape of it," Ron replied. Hermione glared at him and put her hands on her hips.

"And do you realise how utterly ridiculous that sounds? First of all, I would never, ever fraternise with Malfoy of my own free will. Secondly, do you really think I would go to such lengths to keep it from you, even if I did?" she retorted. Ron and Harry exchanged glances. Harry was about to say something, but was interrupted by a panting Ginny almost running straight into them.

"Oh, sorry guys," she gasped, before turning her attention to Hermione.

"Hermione," she panted, "I just went to borrow that jumper. It wasn't there."

Hermione frowned.

"Not there? Did you look in the second drawer down, like I said?" she asked. Ginny nodded.

"That isn't all. It looks like someone's ransacked the place. Your stuff was everywhere."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances, before pelting across the Hogwarts grounds and into the castle, Ginny in hot pursuit, flying up the stairs of Gryffindor tower. They got to the common room, where Harry and Ron waited for the girls to examine Hermione's dormitory room.

"Stupid 'no boys' rule," Ron grumbled, as he paced the length of the deserted common room.

A loud trample of footsteps on stone indicated the two were running down the stairs to the common room. Ginny entered first, slumping down into a chair from the excess exertion, Hermione walking a little more slowly into the room. Harry saw she had gone very pale, and was holding a hairbrush.

"Look," she said quietly, handing Harry her big hairbrush. He could see quite clearly that the matted brown hair wound between the bristles had been tugged at.

"A set of my clothes have gone missing, hair from my hairbrush had been taken and you two saw me chatting to Malfoy in The Three Broomsticks whilst I was in the library? I think it all adds up to one thing," she explained, slumping down into a nearby chair herself.

Ron looked aghast.

"Polyjuice?" he asked. Hermione nodded.

"What else?"

"Malfoy must be in big trouble, if someone went to the trouble of polyjuicing themselves to get to him," Ginny added. Ron's eyes narrowed at this.

"Why you, Hermione?" he asked, "Why not Parkinson? It seems stupid to pick you, he's always horrible to you!"

"Maybe the person who polyjuiced themselves didn't do their research," Hermione replied, quickly. Harry understood the truth- the person who polyjuiced themselves really did do their research.

"We've got to do something," Hermione said, anxiously. Ron smirked.

"Why? This is Malfoy we're talking about!"

"Because," Hermione replied, "we're good people who won't go and let even someone we hate die!"

Ron grudgingly conceded to this.

"I suppose," he sighed. "Shouldn't we go and find Dumbledore, tell him what we think?"

Harry raised his hand.

"I'll go," he announced. "I reckon you should go and find Snape. He is Malfoy's Head of House."

Ron stared at Harry as though he had gone mad.

"Why me?" he protested.

"Take Hermione with you, then," Harry replied. Ginny glared at them.

"Excuse me? What do I get to do?" she asked, irritably. Harry looked at her.

"Try and find Malfoy, I suppose," he suggested. "I doubt he'd go with you to see Dumbledore, but you might at least be able to get him to see Snape, and to take the fake Hermione with him."

Ginny pulled a face.

"Great, I get all the best jobs," she huffed. Ron patted her on the shoulder.

"Well, you did ask..."

The four of them rushed off to complete their various tasks. Harry ran as fast as he could to Dumbledore's office, trying to block out the awful thought that had been gnawing at him ever since Hermione showed him her hairbrush. Whoever had pulled this stunt and lured Draco away to wherever he had been lured to had to be a member of the school- for they clearly knew the Gryffindor passwords, knew that Draco had developed some sort of strange fascination with Hermione over the past year, knew Hermione was friends with both him and Ron, and wasn't present in the school grounds at the moment. There was only one person that sprang to mind, considering the attack on Malfoy Manor at Easter and her desire to make sure Draco stayed in Hogwarts around the same time- Persephone Beauchamp. But, after going to such lengths to keep him safe from the attack, why lure him out? Perhaps he would make a good bargaining chip against the Death Eaters... oh, why was he even thinking his half-sister capable of such a thing? They had the same good, decent mother!

Although, Harry was reminded, they have very different fathers, and besides, people rarely become carbon copies of their parents. Just look at Barty Crouches Junior and Senior.

Dumbledore was not in his office. Harry, in a state of blind panic, even went so far as to look under the desk of his circular office in case he was there, but to no avail. He scratched his head for a moment, then ran out of Dumbledore's office to McGonagall's. She was a member of the Order; she ought to be able to do something!

Suddenly, he backtracked, for something on Dumbledore's desk had caught his eye. A blank piece of parchment. Surreptitiously, he took it and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring the disapproving comments from the portraits of the previous headmasters.

He raced up Gryffindor tower, and knocked frantically on McGonagall's office door, not stopping until she answered, at which she opened the door with a rather irritated expression.

"Goodness, Mr. Potter, what on earth is it?" she demanded. Harry struggled for breath.

"It's Malfoy," he managed, "he's gone off with Hermione, except it isn't Hermione..."

McGonagall grabbed him by the shoulders.

"For heaven's sake, calm down, Mr. Potter!"

"But Professor..." Harry suddenly remembered the parchment he had filched from Dumbledore's desk. He hoped it was what he thought it was. Hastily, he pulled the scrap of parchment out of his pocket, and tapped it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he announced, McGonagall looked disapprovingly at him as a map of Hogwarts suddenly appeared upon the previously blank parchment.

"I'm sure that Professor Dumbledore took that into his care for safe keeping," she remonstrated, sternly. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I took it back to show you," he gasped, scanning the map frantically for the dots that resembled Malfoy, Ron or Hermione. It didn't take him long to find all three. They were in Snape's office, along with the greasy-haired Potions Master himself. Harry jabbed at the map.

"See? Look, there's Ron and Hermione, Draco, Snape and..."

McGonagall took the map from him and examined it.

"Faith Hamilton?" she said, to nobody in particular, and Harry's heart suddenly lifted at the realisation that Persephone had nothing to do with the entire incident, then promptly sank when he realised he had heard the name before. Faith Hamilton was Persephone's best friend at Beaubaxtons.

"How is that possible- she's in Azkaban!" McGonagall exclaimed.

Harry's stomach suddenly felt as though it had been lined with lead all of a sudden. His half-sister has a friend who has wound up in Azkaban? Then again, he did have a godfather who had wound up there too. Perhaps it was just another thing they had in common? He stood on his tiptoes and stared over McGonagall's shoulder, and watched helplessly as the five dots moved towards a wall and suddenly disappeared one by one.

McGonagall grabbed a pinch of green powder and tossed it into her fireplace, before kneeling down and putting her head into the green flames.

"Albus, Albus!" she called, but apparently was receiving no response.

Approximately five minutes later, Harry heard running footsteps reach McGonagall's office, and the door suddenly shot open.

"Minerva, you've got to come quickly, there's been an incident in Severus' office," Persephone explained, in an authoritative tone. McGonagall clucked.

"We've just witnessed it," she replied, showing Persephone the map in her hands. Persephone scrutinised it.

"It shows everyone in the building and where the are," Harry explained, pointing to where McGonagall's office was depicted, and the three dots labelled 'Harry Potter', 'Minerva McGonagall' and 'Persephone Beauchamp'. The latter nodded in understanding.

"So, what happened, then?"

McGonagall explained about the five people on the map who vanished through a wall, and which Persephone looked notably concerned.

"Faith?" she asked, her eyed widened. McGonagall nodded.

"Apparently she has escaped from Azkaban."

"Of course she escaped from Azkaban," Persephone snapped. "I was the one that broke her out!"

Harry literally felt as though someone had just punched all the air out of him.

"You what?" he managed to say. Persephone sighed irritably.

"Now really isn't the time. Come with me and I'll explain everything," she replied, running out of the office. McGonagall followed her, and so did Harry.

"Your explanation had better be good, Persephone," McGonagall warned as they ran down to the dungeons and across to Snape's office.

The door was wide open.

"Why didn't you just use the Floo network to get down here?" McGonagall panted.

"Because I have no idea what Faith has done to the fireplace- she has a habit of jinxing them if she doesn't want anyone to follow her," Persephone replied. "Besides, all five of them have clearly used it, and I want to be certain before..."

She stopped suddenly. The office was an absolute tip. Papers and books were strewn across the floor, and a large proportion of the jars containing pickled creatures lay smashed there as well. A whole bookcase had been upended, and the side of Snape's desk was smoking. Persephone placed a hand on the fireplace.

"Still warm," she commented, still glancing around the room. Harry looked to McGonagall, who was pale.

"Oh, Persephone," she exclaimed, her anger having left her, "you don't think she had anything to do with Death Eaters..."

"Not a chance," Persephone replied, in a clipped tone, "not Faith. Besides, this is far too messy. Death Eaters are trained to cover their tracks, they wouldn't be this... Hang on a moment." She lifted up a small pendant that Harry instantly recognised as Hermione's.

"Well, there was definitely a struggle, if the miniature apocalypse in Severus' office isn't proof enough."

She handed the pendant to McGonagall, who put it in her pocket.

"You don't think..."

"I think they're all alive, and relatively unharmed," Persephone finished. Harry felt compelled to add something to the conversation.

"What the hell is going on!" he yelled.

"Language, Mr. Potter!" McGonagall snapped. Persephone sighed, and took off her robes, leaving her clad in her oriental-style black trousers with a red trim and a black vest top. She pointed at the tattoo of a blazing sun pieced by a chain that wound around both her upper arms.

"Does that answer your question?" she demanded. Harry had to admit he wasn't entirely stunned by the revelation. McGonagall, on the other hand, was.

"The Brethren of Tyr? But they're a myth!" she exclaimed.

"No, they're not. Granted, there are many myths surrounding our existence, but we are a very real organisation," Persephone replied.

McGonagall put her hand to her mouth.

"You mean you were responsible for kidnapping three of our students and a teacher?" she exclaimed, trembling with what Harry assumed to be anger, from the way her lips had thinned. Persephone shook her head.

"Not us- her. Faith. Believe me." She laughed harshly. "Many of the rumours and myths of the Brethren of Tyr have been grossly exaggerated. However, Faith was unfairly imprisoned in Azkaban for eighteen months before we could free her, and the experience scarred her more deeply than anyone could have dreamt. It also left her with one hell of an axe to grind. We try our best to take care of her, but sometimes she slips through our fingers..."

"Get to the point!" McGonagall snapped. Persephone turned to look her in the eye.

"It was Faith who attacked Malfoy Manor in April. It was lucky I had asked Draco to stay behind to improve his grades over the holidays- pure coincidence, mind. I was furious when Augustine told me what had happened..."

Harry felt his jaw drop.

"Augustine's a member too?" he asked. Persephone nodded.

"There are a lot of us. We've spent the past sixteen years trying to build bridges between Muggles and wizards, and the last eighteen months doing the work the Ministry should have," she replied.

Harry was dumbfounded.

"So, that expected Death Eater attack in Somerset..."

Persephone's eyes narrowed.

"How did you know about that?" she asked, suspiciously, but Harry didn't care. At least it explained that erroneous information Snape gave the Order over Christmas. It wasn't deception, or a false alarm at all- the Brethren of Tyr simple got there before the Order of Phoenix.

"Persephone, what do you mean Faith Hamilton sometimes slips through your fingers?" McGonagall repeated, in a tone of pure fury that appeared to wilt Persephone's previous steely disposition.

"After Azkaban, Faith's naturally been a concern of ours," she continued, "and she's been after Severus Snape ever since she left Azkaban."

McGonagall anger seemed to leave her, only to be replaced by utter astonishment.

"Why?"

Persephone laughed harshly again.

"Question one, Minerva- what do the following people have in common: Rosier, Snape, Travers and Wilkes?"

McGonagall looked warily at Persephone, who merely continued.

"Answer- they were all involved in the raid that Voldemort had carried out on the Hamilton family in 1979, the raid that left them all dead except for their three year old daughter, who's mother managed to hide her in the airing cupboard during the massacre. Now for the bonus round- who is the odd one out of these four- Rosier, Snape, Travers and Wilkes?"

"Snape is the only one who turned away from Lord Voldemort," McGonagall replied, defensively. Persephone shook her head.

"That's as may be, but to Faith, Snape is the only one of her family's killers that isn't dead. Yet. Faith is desperate for vengeance, and I fear he is in far worse trouble than Voldemort would ever put him in."

McGonagall looked pale.

"No... no, you can't be suggesting... Severus wouldn't..."

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Minerva, he was a Death Eater! What did you think he did, make the tea?" Persephone spat.

"But, he's your father!" McGonagall stammered. Persephone looked as though she was losing patience.

"I know!" she hissed. "I know he's my father, I know he was a Death Eater- that in itself was obvious- and I know who he killed and who he didn't kill, and so does Albus. He told me," she finished, quietly.

McGonagall looked as though she had been stunned into silence. Harry felt no different. He and Ron had often joked that they wouldn't put it past Snape to murder any of his students with a potion, but he had never imagined that Dumbledore would willingly hire him, knowing that he had killed people. He felt sick.

"I'm truly sorry it has come to this," Persephone said, and the look on her face told Harry she meant it. "But if you want Severus back in one piece, we need to act quickly. Plus I can't guarantee Faith won't turn on the children. Hermione I reckon will be okay, seeing as she's a Muggle-born too. Ron might be fine as well- his father is known to be fond of Muggles, and his Ministry position hasn't affected that. Draco, however, I do fear for, especially if Faith works out he's the son of Lucius, which let's face it, won't take long- they're practically identical."

She looked straight at McGonagall.

"Will you help us?" she asked. McGonagall sighed.

"I can't speak for Albus..."

"All I ask is that you keep a few geographical secrets," Persephone replied, pointedly. McGonagall nodded.

"I don't want to see them hurt anymore than you do," she replied. Persephone seemed to take that as a 'yes.'

"Dextera; Priori inviso!" she commanded, and the fireplace suddenly burst into purple flames, depicting a scene of an abandoned pub in rural England. The corners of the room were covered in cobwebs and the windows were boarded up. Right in the top corner of the room, Harry could see a Muggle photo of a small Alsatian puppy sitting next to a road sign, which read 'Cheadle', balanced on the mantelpiece in a wood-finish frame. Persephone grimaced at this.

"Just as I thought."

"What!" Harry asked, feeling extremely agitated at this point.

"She's taken them to our headquarters- why else would anyone willingly go to Cheadle?"

Harry was surprised.

"That's your headquarters?" he asked. Persephone shook her head.

"No, but you need to take five different Floo routes across Staffordshire to get there- protection from outsiders accidentally finding our scene of operation," she replied.

"Where is your scene of operation?" McGonagall asked. "I'm presuming we shall need backup."

Persephone nodded.

"That's a good idea, Minerva," she replied. "Can you go and find Dumbledore? Tell him to head for The Three Lions in Cheadle via Floo; I'll send Augustine to meet him."

McGonagall nodded.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she replied, before obeying Persephone's request and leaving the office.

Harry tugged at her arm.

"What can I do?" he asked. Persephone looked at him as though he had gone mad.

"You can stay here!" she exclaimed. Harry laughed bitterly.

"Oh, no way!" he replied. "My friends are with that woman- I want to see that they're okay!"

Persephone sighed, and held out her hand.

"Fine, I don't have time to argue. I hope your Concealment Charm is a good one."

Harry shook his head.

"Don't need it. I've got an Invisibility Cloak," he replied. Persephone raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Or you could use that," she replied, quickly, before throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire.

"The Three Lions, Cheadle. The Rigger, Newcastle-Under-Lyme. The Crown, Tamworth. Bass Brewery, Burton-Upon-Trent," she announced in succession. The flamed jumped higher, and invited them to step into the fireplace.

"Where are we going to end up?" Harry asked, still holding onto Persephone's hand. She smiled grimly.

"Final destination: The Bull Ring, Birmingham," she finished, before they both jumped into the flames and disappeared out of Hogwarts. 


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Alex Ridley and The Brethren of Tyr

After what was probably the most vomit-inducing case of Floo travel Harry had ever had the misfortune to experience, he stumbled out of the abandoned pub he had ended up in and found himself facing what was perhaps the most vile looking building he had, again, ever had the misfortune to witness. It was cylindrical and covered in panels of an odd shade of dirty lime green. He could see windows peeking out of the concrete every four meters up or so, until it reached the flat roof, which had a bizarre black cylinder stuck on top of it, as though someone had fitted it with a top hat three times too small.

"Welcome to Birmingham," Persephone said. Harry looked around him, there were people shopping everywhere, bustling around various market-stalls as well as rushing in and out of the cylindrical building in front of them.

"That's your headquarters?" he asked. To be honest, he had been expecting something a little grander. Persephone grinned.

"Yep- well, they're actually underground. Now, just follow me," she instructed, and Harry did as he was told.

They entered the building and Harry noticed there was yet another market inside. Judging from the smell of raw fish and meat, it was a food market. He tried desperately to ignore a man dressed in a white overcoat and hairnet hack into what was clearly half a cow dangling over a large chopping board. It wasn't too difficult, as Persephone was pulling him through the crowds of people clamouring to buy 'three pounds o' top quality beef' from a woman who's market-stall sign proudly proclaimed 'B.S.E. claims are an insult to consumer choice- our beef is safe as houses- buy British!'

"Keep up," Persephone ordered, eventually stopping at a broom cupboard. She placed her right hand on the door and her left hand against the handle.

"Sinistra; salutationis."

A red light travelled from the base of her right palm to the tips of her fingers, before Harry heard a small clicking noise, and Persephone tried the door handle with her left hand, which opened with ease.

The door closed behind them, and Harry saw an escalator directly in front of them. Persephone stood on it, and rested her hand on the revolving handrail, and urged Harry to do the same. They travelled slowly down for about thirty seconds, before it jerked to a stop.

"Name?" a voice called. Harry looked about for a person to attach to the voice, but he could spot no one.

"Beauchamp, Persephone. I have a visitor with me, one Potter, Harry," Persephone announced, clearly.

"Hand?" the voice called. Persephone held her hand out, and motioned for Harry to do the same. He became dimly aware of a bright white light circling his hand, getting closer and closer to his skin, until it made contact and left him with the sensation that he had just plunged his hand into a bowl of cold semolina pudding. Shortly after, the sensation disappeared.

"Proceed," the voice called again, and the escalator steps suddenly flattened out into a slope. Harry felt a sharp nudge in the crook of his knees, then found himself being seated what looked like a utilitarian sofa. A strap quickly snaked itself around his waist and held him in place. Persephone turned to smile at him.

"Brace yourself," she said, and no sooner were the words out of her mouth than the entire sofa zoomed down the slope so fast that Harry felt his head squash into the back of the sofa, and wondered if he would ever be able to move it again.

Within seconds, the sofa had come to a stop, and Harry was thrust against the binds of the strap around his waist. Then they uncoiled from around him, and he was free to stand up. Persephone put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I think so," he lied, for truthfully he was feeling a little queasy. She smiled and patted him on the back with a mild force that he thought for a moment might make him vomit.

"Good man."

She looked briefly around her.

"Right," she announced, "we need to find Faith and the others. Keep hold of my hand, if anyone spots someone they don't recognise, it can get ugly. This place isn't designed for visitors and guests."

Harry nodded in understanding, and took the chance to look around as Persephone took his hand and walked forwards. It was truly an impressive sight, as far as interiors of authority buildings go, and Harry had only the Ministry of Magic to compare it with. The corridor was light and spacious, with numerous tantalising doors flanking each side. Harry craned to read the titles embossed in bold black font upon on the brass coloured doors as Persephone led him down a myriad of stairs and corridors. He distinctly saw the titles 'Muggle/Wizard Weaponry Department', 'Muggle/Wizard Currency Exchange Department', 'Muggle/Wizard Information Department', 'Werewolf and Vampire Integration Society' and the one which amused him the most: 'House-Elf Employment Department'. He imagined Hermione would be thrilled at such an inclusion.

Providing, of course, she was okay.

"Oh, I've been so stupid," Persephone muttered to herself. Harry glared at her.

"Are you saying this is your fault?" he asked, hotly. Persephone shrugged.

"Partly, I suppose." She looked around briefly. "I chat to Faith about Hogwarts; just the stuff that might make her laugh, you know. It's good to see her laugh. I mentioned to her about Draco's interest in Hermione ages ago- she kept asking me to tell her more about it, as though it was some kind of ongoing story. I mentioned once how Dean Thomas found it impossible to say 'Queerditch Marsh' without laughing... No wonder she managed to pull it off!"

Harry was puzzled.

"You hardly said a great deal," he replied. Persephone exhaled loudly.

"Faith's a genius- she doesn't need much information to form a plan, and I just handed her bait for a trap, and a password to obtain it," she replied.

Suddenly, Harry found himself face to chest with a tall man of stocky build and worn features. He pushed a mane of reddish-blonde hair out of his face and smiled warmly at Persephone.

"Hey, Beau," he said, languidly, but was cut off by Persephone.

"Don't you 'Hey, Beau' me, Sam! What in heaven persuaded you to let her out unaccompanied?" she demanded, furiously. Sam looked genuinely confused.

"What are you on about, Beau?" he asked. Persephone's eyes narrowed.

"Faith. She paid a visit to Hogwarts today," she replied. Sam's expression was one of shock, and it emphasised his tired looking eyes.

"She hasn't left... oh, wait. She did have one of her turns and begged me to find her a 'Best of The Bangles' CD."

Persephone was glaring at Sam, who visibly recoiled under her smouldering anger.

"I'm so sorry, Beau," he protested, "but you know how upset she gets, and it's really hard to ignore her..."

"She used it as an excuse to get you away from her, presumably. She came to Hogwarts, and captured three of my students and a fellow professor."

Sam's eyebrows had now risen at least half an inch.

"You mean she went after Snape?" he asked. Persephone nodded, and he sounded a low whistle in response.

"We've got to find him before she does something awful to him," Persephone said, in concerned tones. Sam laughed hoarsely.

"Since when have we suddenly started caring what happens to Death Eaters, ex or otherwise?" he asked.

Now it was Harry's turn to look surprised.

"How do you know?" he demanded. Sam turned to look at him.

"Who is this?" he asked Persephone.

"Harry Potter," she replied. Harry felt Sam stare hard at the scar on his forehead.

"You mean, this is the saviour of the wizarding world?" he exclaimed, with disappointment in his voice, Harry noticed with a flush of indignation. Sam laughed again.

"We'd better step up our efforts, Beau. I'd rather not rely on that Prophecy if this kid's the key."

Harry glared at both Persephone and Sam.

"How much exactly do you know about me, then?" he asked, angrily. Persephone had the grace to look embarrassed, at least.

"Pretty much everything," she admitted. "Sam and I are heads of the Muggle/Wizard Information Department- we work in espionage."

The realisation of this hit Harry hard.

"You mean, you've been working in Hogwarts as a spy?" he exclaimed, every fibre of his being tensing with fury. Persephone straightened her back, then looked him in the eye.

"I'll apologise for a lot of things, Harry, but I will never apologise for doing what I think is right. We needed to see how the land lay. We'd been doing our best to pick up the Ministry's slack all of last year, but a few things didn't add up. I was sent to take the Defence Against the Dark Arts position in order to make sure you lot were well protected and to fill in those missing gaps of information."

"You mean about Dumbledore? About me?" Harry spat. Persephone sighed.

"I mean about everything... Look," she snapped back, "this isn't the time. Let's find your friends, and then we can have an argument about this."

Harry was silenced by this, but his anger wasn't quelled. He had far too many unanswered questions for that to happen anytime soon.

Suddenly, and inexplicably, Sam tilted his head and sniffed at the air.

"She's in her workshop," he replied, "with four others. I don't recognise their scent. They've not been there long, I don't think."

Persephone screwed up her face in an odd mixture of disgust and amusement.

"Have I reminded you that, despite its usefulness, that is one pretty gross side effect you've got yourself there?" she asked. Sam merely grinned, and sniffed the air.

"Have I reminded you that I think you're due on tomorrow, Beau?" he retorted, in jest.

A loud siren suddenly blared throughout the entire corridor.

"...Warning, warning, intruder alert, intruder alert, all guards to sector three fifteen..." a disembodied voice announced, far more calmly than Harry would expect, given the circumstances.

"Three fifteen- that's here," Persephone announced suddenly, before turning to Harry.

"Get out of here," she hissed, before a jet of red light careered towards her. She ducked it, and sent a counter-curse flying in front of her. Harry heard a female scream, one he recognised only too well.

Tonks had hit the wall with some force, though she still managed to throw another curse at Persephone, which hit her arm and made her wince in pain.

"Right, you bitch!" she hissed, pulling a sword from out of nowhere. "It's time to teach you a lesson in knocking!"

"No!" Harry cried, but a jet of yellow light hit Persephone's wrist, forcing her to drop her weapon. One look at the greying man responsible made Harry's heart jump. It was Lupin, who was suddenly pounced upon by Sam, who punched him so hard across the jaw, he staggered and had to wipe at the smear of blood that began to trickle from his nose. Tonks stared at the pair furiously and aimed another jet of blue light at them, at which Persephone ducked and hit her with a disarming charm to get her wand, which Lupin knocked out of her hand with a deft 'buttery' jinx that caused her hands to become slippery.

"Just turn left at the end, go down the stairs and turn right. Faith's workshop has her name on it!" Persephone ordered, before Tonks hit her with a jet of blue light from her wand, and she doubled up in pain. Harry looked at the scene in horror, then thought about what might be happening to Ron and Hermione, and ran as fast as he could towards the end of the corridor, following her instructions.

By the time he had descended the long staircase, he thought it might be prudent to put on his Invisibility Cloak. He had stashed it away in the pockets of his robes, which fortunately were large enough to hold it. The fabric fell down to his ankles, and, confident he was hidden from view, he continued along the corridor, looking for Faith Hamilton's workshop amongst the silver coloured doors with black embossed writing on them. This area of the Brethren of Tyr's headquarters was much darker in colour, for the corridors were a deep sapphire blue shade, making all the doors stand out, but making distinguishing the floor from the walls a little more difficult. Harry nearly walked into the corner of the corridor before he finally found a silver door with the words 'Faith's Workshop' embossed on the door in what clearly used to be black font, except that somebody had used poster-paints to colour each letter in blue and pink alternately. There was a slightly dog-eared poster that was stuck to the door with Spellotape, which had a stationary photograph of five men dressed in pastel-coloured suits with humongous shoulder pads, with the legend 'Spandau Ballet' printed across the top. Harry noticed the door was ajar, and, holding his breath, he surreptitiously crept inside.

The room he found himself in was amazing. It was at least twenty by ten feet, with a high ceiling that certainly didn't match the underground setting, and was covered in bizarre scribbles, which on closer inspection Harry took to be formulae of some sort. The thick black scribbles covered the sky-blue walls as well and were squashed around various bookcases and shelves stuffed with contraptions that Harry couldn't begin to guess what they might be, though he thought he had spotted a few Sneak-o-scopes, at least a dozen brightly pattered music boxes and a Hand of Glory sat on a cushion that was being used to hold hair scrunchies and bracelets.

He turned his head and was faced with an enormous machine that seemed to stretch across an entire wall. It consisted of four iron staffs with a crystal ball at the top of each one, arranged like the posts on a four-poster bed might be. The space in between the staffs was filled with what appeared to be a garish map of some description. The first two staffs held a huge complicated clock in place, which consisted of three concentric circles; the outermost one had numbers from one to a hundred printed around the edge, the one inside that had the letters J, F, M, A, M, J, J, A, S, O, N, D printed around the edge in a clockwise pattern. The final circle inside that one had the numbers one to thirty-one printed around its edge, and held three clock hands of differing lengths at its centre. Underneath the huge circles was a small wooden panel with the number nineteen burned onto the wood, and a bulbous handle attached to its side. A large black Maltese cross had been painted onto the floor directly in front of the odd device.

Suddenly, Harry heard muffled calls of distress, and turned to face the direction that they were coming from. In the near distance, he could see Ron being pushed against a wall and slumping onto the floor, his red hair flopping forward. Hermione was next, though she appeared to be being handled with more care, and she sat down without arguing.

Harry crept closer to the scene, and was able to see what had happened to Draco and Snape. Draco looked rather scared, and kept glaring at Hermione as though the entire situation was somehow her fault, which Hermione ignored, but Ron visibly bristled at. Coils of pink light appeared to be preventing all three of them from moving away from the wall they had been thrust against. Snape was slumped heavily against another wall, apparently unconscious, yet his arms were held aloft. Another quick glance in his direction, and Harry was able to work out why, as he saw the heavy iron shackles that kept him in place.

A small girl was pacing in a triangular pattern, humming a tune to herself that Harry vaguely recognised from his first Occlumency lesson with Persephone. He saw that she had blonde hair pulled into pigtails and was dressed in short pale blue robes that were not fastened, showing a pleated skirt and blouse underneath. She wore white lace knee socks and a pair of flat black patent shoes with a t-bar buckle fastening. Her pacing pattern changed, and she began to chew on the end of one of her pigtails, turning to look Harry directly in the eye, only she evidently wasn't aware she had done so. Harry had to stop himself from jumping in shock. The face was hollow and the eyes sunken, but there was no mistaking those unnaturally bright eyes. He hadn't been looking at a small girl at all. He was looking at Faith Hamilton.

"Something's not right in here," she was moaning, pacing in smaller and smaller circles, bobbing her head a little from side to side as though it wasn't attached properly to her neck. After a few moments of this, she whirled round and grabbed a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from a nearby table. She balanced them carefully on the bridge of her nose, and stared directly at Harry once more.

"Hmm, something's different, I tell no joke, there's a boy in this room with an Invisibility Cloak!" she lilted. Harry froze.

All of a sudden, she broke into a run and didn't stop until she was nose to nose with Harry, at which point she yanked his Invisibility Cloak off his shoulders.

"Do you want to play?" she asked, loudly, staring wildly at him. Harry glared back at her.

"No, I want my friends back," he demanded. Faith shrugged her shoulders, pointed her wand at him and before he had even registered the movement, he was stuck by an intense pain he had only experienced once before, and that was at the hand of Voldemort.

"Crucio!" she sang, and Harry felt the pain strike him again. After what felt like half an eternity, she ended the curse, and Harry fell to his knees. She bent over him and stared at him with wide eyes.

"Do you want to play?" she shouted, hotly.

"Just say yes, Harry," Ron cried, weakly, from the wall. Faith beamed.

"See, the boy knows what's good for him, even if his head is on fire," she giggled, hitting Harry with another curse that caused a pink light to fasten around his arms and waist, then to his ankles, clamping them together. Faith dragged him along to the wall where Ron, Hermione and Draco were being restrained, and he too was thrust into the wall and sank to the floor.

"Alright, Harry?" Ron whispered. Harry nodded.

"Persephone is here," he replied, "so are some of the Order."

Ron appeared to breathe a sign of relief.

Draco was struggling desperately against his bonds, but to no avail. Hermione was sat watching Faith with concern clearly etched into her features, as the woman dressed as a child dragged a trunk across the floor to where Snape was currently being held. She undid the chains that were wrapped around it, perched herself on the edge of the trunk, and began to slap Snape across the face, in an attempt to wake him up.

"Ooh," she moaned, "he's a heavy sleeper, isn't he?"

After a few seconds of jabbing her index finger into his closed eyes without the man so much as flinching, she broke into another child-like song.

"Wake up, Mr. Snape, wake up! You'll miss the best part of the day! Your head should be buzzing, like mine has day after day after day after..."

"He won't wake up," Hermione shouted. Faith snapped her head around to face Hermione.

"Excuse me, little girl?" she spat. Ron looked at Hermione.

"What are you doing!" he hissed.

"He won't wake up," Hermione continued, slightly irascibly, "because you put him under the Stunning Spell. He won't wake up unless you use your wand."

Faith stared at her, and for a moment Harry thought she was going to rip Hermione's throat out.

"You're absolutely right!" she exclaimed, slapping her hand to her forehead. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at Snape.

"Ennervate!" she commanded, and Snape jolted awake. Faith clapped enthusiastically.

"Hooray!" she exclaimed, "well done, little girl!"

She jumped up off the trunk and opened a nearby cupboard, pulling out a large tin, which she carried over to Hermione.

"Have a cookie!" she offered. Hermione shook her head weakly.

"Oh no, I couldn't..."

Faith's expression soured.

"Have a cookie!" she demanded. Hermione nodded.

"Okay," she agreed, in a clear attempt to mollify the girl.

"I have chocolate chip or raisin," Faith continued.

"Whichever you think would be best," Hermione replied, quickly. Faith beamed, and picked out a large chocolate chip cookie, motioning for Hermione to open her mouth, which she obeyed. Faith stuffed the cookie halfway into Hermione's mouth and left her to figure out how to eat it.

Draco shot an angry glance at Hermione.

"What did you do that for, you stupid cow!" he hissed. Hermione glared back at him with equal loathing, then bit the cookie in half, quietly spitting the half in her mouth out, and letting the two halves fall into her lap.

"Well, unless you wanted her to blind and kill Professor Snape in the process of attempting to wake him, I think you'll find I did it for a damn good reason!" she snapped back. Draco seemed unable to think of any decent retort.

"Idiot Mudblood," he muttered, under his breath, though Hermione's facial expression indicated she had heard him.

A sudden stillness of Faith's head, as though she were a rabbit caught in headlights, suggested to Harry that Hermione wasn't the only one who had heard.

"Crucio," she commanded, cheerily, as though she were welcoming a passenger onto an aeroplane, pointing her wand at Draco and causing his to curl up in agony as the curse did its work. She stopped, and he lay prostrate on the ground, his eyes shut tight and groaning in pain. She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him up to a sitting position.

"Now," she scolded, "that wasn't very polite, was it?"

Draco made no reply, so Faith struck him hard against his jaw with a well-aimed slap.

"Was it!" she shouted, merely inches from his ear. Draco shook his head.

"N... no, no it wasn't," he managed to stammer, Faith nodding slowly as he did so.

"So, say sorry!" she demanded. Draco looked across at Hermione with an expression of utmost loathing. Faith pinched the skin where his shoulder and neck met between her thumb and index finger, and began to twist.

"Say. Sorry!" she repeated, more harshly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Louder!" Faith yelled in his ear, and his breathing suddenly got a lot quicker.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he pleaded. Faith looked at Hermione expectantly.

"It's okay," she replied, nervously. Faith frowned at her.

"You're too nice," she replied, "I'd have said, 'no, sorry isn't good enough, you inbred little cretin!' and then slapped him some more, see?"

Faith struck Draco across the face again to emphasise her point, then shrugged.

"Your choice, though," she conceded.

Snape appeared to have recovered from Faith's curse, for he now sat, tugging at his shackles, with an expression of horror.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" he demanded, groggily. On hearing this, Faith ignored Draco and turned her full attention to their Potions professor once again, skipping over to him and perching herself on the trunk next to his feet again.

"Hello Mr. Snape," she lilted, "my name's Faith, and I will be your torturer for this evening!"

Snape looked at her with a mixture of horror, indignation and bewilderment.

"Excuse me?"

Faith, humming to herself all the while, grabbed one of the chains that had been holding her trunk together, wrapped it around her wrist and whipped it against Snape's jaw. He turned his face to lessen the impact, and grunted in pain. Faith wagged her finger.

"Tut, tut, that isn't playing the game!" she sang. Snape glared at her.

"You're wasting your time," he spat, "you'll get no information out of me, whatever you try."

Faith smiled maliciously.

"Well, that's just super," she replied, cheerily, "because I don't want any information from you! I just want to torture you slowly until you die."

Harry noticed her beaming expression did not change as she said those words. Ron and Hermione's eyes widen in revulsion. Draco was equally, if not more, horrified.

"What?" he exclaimed, struggling against his bonds. "Why?"

Faith turned to face him as though he had asked her if she would set him free and pay for any damage done to his robes.

"Well, I hate him," she replied, as though it was the most rational reason anyone would torture another human being. "So, I quite like the idea of torturing him." She turned to Snape and a slow, humourless smile crept across her hollowed face. "When you first visited my home, I was too young to own a screwdriver kit, and I'm just dying to see what'll happen if I try to disembowel you with it. Or rather, you will." She shrieked with laughter at her joke.

Draco's face fell.

"What has he ever done to you?" he asked, quietly. Faith turned to face him.

"Oh, nothing directly," she admitted, before turning back to face Snape.

"I've been looking forward to finally meeting you, Mr. Snape. I don't think you know me, but you knew my mummy and daddy, and Granny Issy and Grandpa Jacob, and my big brother Luke, and my dog, Rupert..."

Snape looked horrified.

"The Hamiltons?" he gasped. Faith looked surprised.

"Oh, so you do remember! I was beginning to think I was the only one. When you came to visit the first time, they were roasting marshmallows in the fire in our living room, and playing Scrabble. My mummy was very clever, I'd imagine. She showed big kids in university how numbers and equations worked. Daddy used to draw houses, and people would make them. They were happy people, until you came along and Crucio!"

She aimed a green flash of light at Snape's chest, and he appeared to struggle not to recoil from the pain. She held him under the curse for a long time, then, just as it looked as though he might pass out from the pain, she stopped.

"Nasty green sparks and pain and screaming and death that never stopped. All because Luke could make things grow from nowhere and change for no reason. Luke was funny; he played the guitar and sang songs. He took Rupert for walks, and you even killed Rupert. He yelped and then there was nothing. You killed them all, and I heard every cry, every plea," her sad lilting voice suddenly changed to a snarl. "And every laugh."

She slid off the trunk she had perched herself upon and straddled Snape's lap. She grabbed one of her screwdrivers with her left hand, and began to undo the buttons of his robes with the right, until she exposed his wiry chest.

"So now," she lilted again, "I want you to know whether you will cry and plea, and whether it will drown out the screams in my head..."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco collectively winced and turned away from the scene as Faith began to execute her plan, hearing only ragged breathing and pained grunting.

"Oh, I can't look!" Hermione whimpered.

"I've actually daydreamed about this happening during our Potions lessons at least eighteen times this term," Ron admitted, "but somehow it was more fun in my head."

Harry looked up briefly at the scene, then looked away again. He was trying to feel sorry for Snape, and felt like the lowest kind of scum when he found that he couldn't. His head was too full of what poor Faith must be feeling. Snape appeared to be in agony, his face twisted in an expression Harry had never seen him wear before. Faith was dabbing his chest with a cotton wool bud soaked in some substance Harry didn't recognise.

"Never used to hear them," she mumbled, as she pulled out various contraptions from her trunk, one of which Harry recognised as bearing the words 'Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes'.

"Now they're always in my head," she continued, pulling out a sweet from what Harry could now tell was a 'Skiving Snackbox', snapping off the purple cap and applying it to Snape's skin.

"That place, it put them there. Those things put them there, made me feel so cold..."

Harry saw Snape grit his teeth as the skin where the liquid from the sweet had been placed began to peel.

"Dementors? In Azkaban?" Hermione ventured, weakly. Faith stared at her.

"It was in the Daily Prophet," Hermione replied, looking away at the floor.

Faith continued to stare, but didn't look angry.

"Yeah," she replied, in an odd moment of what appeared to be clarity. "I got famous. I killed a man, so they put me in there. Let the cold things have my nice things, and gave me bad things in return. I kept telling them, I didn't remember, but I must've done it..."

"What happened?" Hermione asked gently, taking advantage of Faith's sudden calmness.

"I woke up with a wand in my hand, and poor Ryan lying on the floor. They did some spell on my wand, and the Killing Curse came out, but I don't remember ever using it. Come to think of it, I don't remember even holding that wand. I liked Ryan, why would I hurt him?" she asked Hermione, pleadingly. Hermione looked as though she was blinking back tears.

"I don't know," she said, quietly.

Faith shrugged sadly.

"Me neither," she sighed, before turning her attention back to Snape and muttering a curse that caused a large tarantula to crawl out of the end of her wand and up Snape's chest. Harry felt Ron shudder next to him.

"Bird-eating spiders are so weird," she mused, "if you agitate them..." She prodded said spider with the end of her wand, and it bristled, shooting a number of tiny spiny hairs out of its body and into Snape's skin.

"Does it itch?" she asked him. "It's supposed to."

"Of course! The Malleable Statue curse!" Hermione suddenly interjected, loudly. Faith screamed, and put her head in her hands whilst rocking to and fro in Snape's lap, which the Potions Master appeared to find more disconcerting than any of her previous actions.

"Don't. Like. Shouting!" she panted, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hermione said, soothingly. Eventually, Faith stopped rocking and turned to look Hermione in the eyes.

"Well?" she demanded, suddenly, "seeing as you made all that noise, it'd better be good!"

"C...cou... couldn't someone have put the Malleable Statue curse on you and made you look as though you had used the Killing Curse on your friend?" she stammered. Faith stopped breathing for a moment, then her facial expression changed to one of deep thought, then quite suddenly to one of realisation.

"Yes... yes!" she cried, causing Harry and Ron to jump from the sudden volume of her voice. She jumped up out of Snape's lap and began to pace in small circles again.

"I was talking to Ryan, then Walden was around somewhere- he hit me with something, then I came to about ten minutes later, holding a wand... his wand! The bastard set me up!" she yelled, with a fury beyond that which Harry had seen her possess, as she threw some kind of curse at the wall, inches from Snape's head, and the tiles on the wall cracked and crumbled away with the impact. Harry couldn't understand why she hadn't realised this before- Persephone had always maintained that she was some kind of genius. He watched as she turned to face Snape again, and pointed her wand furiously at him.

"Macnair, you must have known him, he was a Death Eater. Death Eaters know each other. We know each other, so you must know each other, otherwise you'd be bumping into each other in the dark! Where is he?" she demanded. Snape tilted his head to look up at her, and attempted to speak, but the words were inaudible. Faith looked as though her patience was wearing thin.

"Damn it! Talk sense, man!" she ordered, through gritted teeth. "Otherwise, I'm going to cut your heart out really slowly, with a spoon!"

Ron looked puzzled, as well as disturbed.

"A spoon?" he mouthed to Hermione, who had cringed in shame for some reason.

"It's dull. It'll hurt more than a sword," she replied, monotonously. Faith suddenly snapped her attention to Hermione.

"You've seen it too?" she exclaimed. "Wasn't 'Men In Tights' just so much better?"

Ron stared at her, aghast.

"You're bonkers!" he exclaimed. Faith turned to face him, her wide-eyed stare more askance than offended.

"Well, yes. Azkaban, eighteen months, set up, this bastard killed my entire family. Have you not been paying attention this afternoon?" she asked, tapping the side of her head with her knuckles.

"We don't know each other," Snape managed to cough out, regaining his capacity for speech. Faith stared petulantly at him, and got up from her position sat in his lap, and moved towards the wall that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco were bound against.

"Fine, if you're not going to tell me," she whined, "then I'll just have to make you change your mind. Hmm..." She appeared deep in thought, scrutinising the four students as they say helpless against the wall. Her bottom lip protruded in a pout as she pointed at each of them in turn.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, mo; I'm going to choose... the small, rat-like boy," she announced proudly, before fixing her penetrating stare on Draco.

"Rat like?" he protested, but soon quietened in fear as she sat herself in his lap and smiled the smile that soiled a thousand trousers.

"Let's see what you've got in there," she mused, tapping her fingers against his temples and staring hard at him, forcing Draco to maintain eye contact with her." After a few moments, she appeared quite surprised.

"Oh, so you're a Malfoy!" she exclaimed. Draco nodded. Faith's expression instantly changed to one of disgust.

"I don't like Malfoys," she announced, her face literally an inch away from Draco's. "Nasty little creatures that like to drown little girls that see their shame."

"What..." Draco began to ask, but Faith ignored him completely, and took his hand in hers.

"And the sins of the father shall be visited upon the children..."

Harry heard a sickening snap and a rather high-pitched scream, both of which came from Draco. He saw that his index finger was at an odd angle, and Faith was holding his middle finger between her hands.

"Your daddy's a bad man..."

Another snap, and another scream, though this time Draco attempted to restrain his voice.

"So you stink of his sin..."

Another snap was clearly audible, but another voice cut through the scream.

"Enough!"

It was Snape.

"This is between you and me; it has got nothing to do with them," he spat, looking murderously at Faith, who merely smiled sweetly at him.

"This isn't just about you- how egotistical can you get? It's about lots of things. You're one of them, he's another," she explained, jerking her head towards a petrified-looking Draco. "Or rather, his daddy. His daddy killed my best friend, drowned her in a sink..."

"But she didn't stay dead!" Harry protested, quickly. Faith looked at him condescendingly.

"Well, that doesn't make it right, does it, little boy?" she remonstrated, and Harry found he couldn't come up with an answer to that question that wouldn't get Draco killed.

Faith smiled coldly at Snape.

"So, you don't want to hurt the children!" she gasped. "Pity you didn't think like that nineteen years ago. So, which one shall I do?"

She studied each of them in turn, before resting her gaze on Hermione.

"No," she decided, finally, "I like this one. She's clever."

"Maybe I'll just continue with the rat boy... But the fire-head might be a good choice... What about the speccy one?"

She continued to muse over which of them she ought to 'do', but her ramblings were cut short suddenly.

"What the hell is going on!" a commanding voice called from across the room. Harry turned around to see who the voice belonged to, and saw a dark-skinned woman with a mass of short, curly black hair that was streaked a deep red, walk towards the scene, her boots clicking against the stone floor.

Faith looked across at her, wide-eyed and petulant.

"I'm sorting out the bad man!" she protested, but the woman looked unimpressed.

"Get off the boy, Faith."

"But Alex..."

"Get off the boy!" she repeated, this time more forcefully, but without an increase in volume. Faith obeyed grudgingly, and sat, cross-legged, on the floor next to Hermione.

Alex crouched down next to the now whimpering Draco.

"Hold out your hand, boy," she said. Draco looked at her, but made no movement. She clicked her tongue and sighed impatiently.

"For God's sake, boy, stop your snivelling and hold out your hand!" she snapped.

Trembling, Draco did as he was told. The woman pulled out a wand from her pocket, muttered a few incantations, and pointed the wand at Draco's now swollen hand. A jet of pink light crept out of the end, and wrapped its way around Draco's fingers. A few snaps and pops later, and Draco's hand was no longer swollen. He flexed his fingers with ease.

"Thanks," he managed to mumble. The woman waved her hand in dismissal, then the sight of Snape pinned to the adjacent wall caught her eye. She walked over to him and pulled the sleeve of his left arm down, revealing a red tattoo that signified his one-time allegiance with Voldemort. She sighed and shook her head.

"Dear, oh, dear," she said, in harsh tones. "We've got one of them in our ranks. That isn't good... for you, naturally."

Snape lifted up his head and glared at her defiantly.

Faith clapped her hands and giggled.

"Do you know where you are?" she laughed, pointing at Snape. "You're in the jungle, baby! You're gonna die!"

"That's enough, Faith," she barked, and Faith obeyed, though still wore a broad smile.

"Okay, okay," she conceded, "but promise me you'll blow him away!" She mimed the pulling back and letting loose of a rocket launcher to demonstrate her suggestion further. Alex looked at her with an expression of indignation.

"I'm not going to blow him up," she replied, "can you imagine the mess? I happen to take some pride in our headquarters; the last thing I want is to have to spend months trying to get Death Eater out of the grouting! I have better things to do..."

She pulled a sword out of a scabbard clasped around her waist, then looked at Snape once more.

"Get up," she ordered. Snape smirked, and looked up to his shackles, then back to Alex, though he said nothing. Alex tutted.

"Don't bother getting smart with me," she hissed, pointing her wand at the shackles with her remaining free hand, and muttering a curse that made the iron chains dissolve into nothing.

"Get up," she repeated. Snape staggered to his feet, only to be met with Alex's blade pointing threateningly at his neck.

"No, you can't!" Hermione pleaded, looking horrified. Alex slowly turned to face her, the blade still pressing against Snape's neck.

"Excuse me?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Hermione looked at her, pleadingly.

"He's... he's..." She stammered, clearly uncertain as to whether she should say the words. Alex continued to glare at her, awaiting a response.

"He's good," she finished, lamely.

Alex laughed harshly.

"There's only one good Death Eater, sweetheart, and that's a dead one," she replied, fervently. Still keeping her sword pressed against Snape, she began to feel in his robe pockets, until she pulled out a wand, and stuffed it in her belt pouch, which Harry noticed with curiosity, held two wands already. What did she need with two wands?

"Right," she spat, "now that's out of the..."

"Wait, wait, Alex, just hold on!" a voice called frantically, which Harry instantly recognised as Persephone's. Alex continued to frisk Snape's pockets, though she turned to look in the direction of the noise.

"Perce?" she called, "what's the matter?"

Suddenly, she stopped dead, and fixed her eyes upon Snape. This time, though, it was not in anger.

"You?" she questioned, quietly, having pulled a second wand from Snape's person. Snape looked irritated, which Harry was beginning to think was his default expression.

"What do you mean 'me'? What are you on about?" he snapped. Then he looked at the woman, who had now dropped her sword and let it clang onto the floor, as though he had seen her before, and was not expecting to see her again.

"Ridley?" he asked, in a slightly softer tone of voice, "Alexandra Ridley?"

Alex nodded.

"You still carry two wands," she replied. He smiled kindly, which to Harry simply didn't fit well with the rest of his face.

"You can never be too prepared," he said, quietly. He nodded towards the wands in Alex's own belt.

"I see you now understand the logic," he added. Alex merely nodded. The briefest of smiles flashed across Snape's features.

"Mahogany, nine inches, good for..."

"Excellent for transfiguration." Alex finished Snape's sentence for him. "You remembered?"

"I remember a lot about that day," he replied, simply.

"What's going on?" Draco demanded. Nobody paid him any attention.

"Why does Snape know her?" Ron asked Harry.

"Why does she know Snape?" he asked in reply.

"That's what I'd like to know," an extremely infuriated Faith added. Hermione said nothing, and appeared to be deep in thought as she stared at the scene in curiosity.

Persephone ran into the room as fast as she could. Well, as fast as one can when struggling to restrain a pink-haired Auror, who was extremely reluctant to comply.

"I came as fast as I could," she panted, "there's a lot to explain, Alex..." She trailed off as she saw Alex and Snape stood in front of each other.

"Oh yes, that," she said, slightly embarrassed. "I was going to mention that, but I guess there's no need."

Alex nodded.

"No, there isn't. Except to add further proof?"

"It was further proof," Persephone replied. She glanced behind her, and Harry saw that Sam was also dragging a subdued Lupin in his firm grasp. Faith looked thrilled.

"Puppies!" she squealed, jumping up and down in her seat.

"We'd have got here sooner," Sam admitted.

"Yeah, if Mr. and Mrs. Swish-and-flick hadn't got so wand happy!" Persephone shouted, glaring at Tonks and Lupin.

"If you hadn't gone and kidnapped a bunch of schoolchildren, we wouldn't have needed to!" Lupin spat, before Persephone looked across at Snape.

"You okay, Dad?" she asked. Snape nodded, though the rest of the congregation collectively gasped in shock, with the exception of Harry, Ron and Hermione.

Tonks and Lupin's jaws had slackened, and they were staring at Persephone, then Snape, then back to Persephone again.

"How?" Lupin asked, hoarsely. Persephone rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, does nobody bother to teach sex education at Hogwarts?" she asked, then looked at Snape again.

"Silly question," she replied, mostly to herself, before loosening her grip on Tonks. Sam did the same with Lupin, and released Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco from their bonds, although none of them moved to get up in response.

"How do you two know each other?" Hermione asked, looking at Alex as she did so.

"What's it to you?" she snapped back.

"My parents knew your parents, before..." Hermione trailed off.

"Before they were killed by Death Eaters. If you're going to allude to it, just come out and say it, girl," Alex replied, brusquely. Then her expression changed to one of curiosity.

"Who were your parents, then?" she asked.

"Tom and Kate Granger," she replied. Alex smiled, suddenly.

"Really? Wow- they used to baby-sit me!" she laughed. Hermione smiled back.

"They were really worried about you," she replied. Alex's expression became melancholic.

"I couldn't go back," she explained, "I couldn't let them know- it would have meant getting them killed too. It all happened 'cause of what I am, what I'm guessing you are, too."

"A witch?" Hermione asked. Alex smiled.

"A Muggle-born witch," she reiterated, before continuing. "When the Death Eaters killed my parents, they kidnapped me- God only knows what for. They left me in the hands of one of their number, who I, feeling reckless, pestered with psychobabble and irritating questions. For some reason, he helped me escape." She looked up at Snape. "I owe him a great debt. He saved my life."

Snape looked back at her.

"Consider it paid. You saved mine," he replied. Alex looked confused.

"How?" she asked. Snape glanced at the floor for a moment, before returning her gaze.

"Let's just say you forced me to reconsider my options, and to change my path," he replied, carefully.

Alex's expression softened further.

"You mean you left? How? How did you leave and not die?" she asked, in blatant curiosity. Persephone smiled.

"I reckon it runs in the family, Alex," she replied. Alex looked at her oddly.

"What, coming back from the Killing Curse?" she asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the espionage," Persephone replied, quietly.

Hermione's eyes lit up as though somebody had just switched on a light bulb in her head.

"So, you were kidnapped in 1979, escaped the Death Eater's with Sn... Professor Snape's help, joined the Brethren..."

"As a foot-soldier." Alex grinned. "They looked after me, and helped me go back to Beaubaxtons whilst under protection. They were grateful for the information I could give them of where I was held during my capture, and equally amenable to my ideas. I worked part-time until I finished my N.E.W.T.s, then joined as a fully paid up member."

"Much like I did," Persephone added, "I've worked here since I was sixteen, as well."

Alex smiled at her.

"I became leader a few years later. I, like Persephone, believed we were due for an overhaul in our proceedings," she replied.

"So, you were the reason the Brethren's methods lessened in severity during the early eighties?" Hermione asked. Alex shrugged.

"Sort of. Having seen a different side to the Death Eaters than most in my situation did, I was inclined to punish and protect for the good of the many, rather than avenge for the good of the few," she explained.

Tonks and Lupin still looked sceptical.

"As heart-warming as this is," Tonks pointed out, having brushed herself down, "it doesn't explain why we caught one of your number kidnapping a bunch of schoolchildren and their teacher and held them within your headquarters! We can track Floo journeys to some extent, you know."

Lupin nodded, then pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Severus, but I'm still having difficulty grasping the fact that you have a daughter," he said, quietly. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Well, get used to it, Lupin!" he snapped, then winced as his jaw clicked audibly.

Alex clicked her fingers.

"You two," she ordered, pointing at Ron and Draco. "Take your professor here up the stairs and to the left- there's a medical facility that'll put him right, and perhaps you ought to stop there too- you've both got some nasty bruises."

Ron and Draco looked at each other.

"Just go, boys," Alex replied, in a voice Harry personally wouldn't have liked to disobey. Judging by the way Ron and Draco got up and rushed to Snape's aid, he got the impression they felt the same. Alex tapped Ron on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear, at which he nodded.

Harry looked to his left, and saw that Faith had her hands over her ears, and was muttering to herself, clearly not pleased by the revelations that had just come to light.

"What has all this got to do with Faith? And Sirius' letter?" Harry demanded. Alex glared at him, but Persephone put a hand on her shoulder.

"This is where I've got some explaining to do," she replied, grimly.

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Woman in the Pensieve

"Well?" Harry asked. Persephone sighed.

"I went back to my office before I found out about Faith's excursion to Hogwarts," she replied, "and I saw you'd found my little stash of documents. Honestly, Harry," she scolded, "if you're going to go snooping, you should at least put things back where you found them, so the person being snooped on doesn't find out!"

Harry glared back at her.

"Says you!" he snapped. "All this time you've been snooping on me!"

"Now, that isn't fair, I haven't..."

"I thought I could trust you!" Harry shouted back, unleashing the fury he had felt ever since they had first entered the headquarters' of the Brethren.

Persephone was about to respond, but Alex grabbed her arm.

"Hold up, kiddo," she said, pulling out her wand. "We've got company."

Persephone looked towards the entrance to Faith's workshop. Sam sniffed the air once more.

"It's okay," he replied, "it's Augustine."

Harry's heart leapt as he saw that Augustine was accompanied by two much taller men. Dumbledore and Kingsley Shacklebolt were also present.

"I presumed you wouldn't mind if Albus here brought a friend?" Augustine said, mildly. Alex rolled her eyes.

"Sure, why not? The more the effing merrier, I say," she drawled, sarcastically.

"Now, now, Alex," Persephone teased, "give Albus some sympathy. He's known for at least six months my real reasons for working at Hogwarts, and he's let me get on with it." She glanced up at Dumbledore, who gave her a smile.

"How very perceptive of you, Persephone," he replied, beaming. "I must admit, I expected little else from the daughter of one who's pulled such a stunt for the last eighteen years."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Persephone replied, coolly.

Tonks looked at Dumbledore in astonishment.

"You mean, you've known these people have been amongst your number at Hogwarts?" she gasped. Dumbledore nodded.

"Yes, I have," he replied.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Shacklebolt asked, calmly. Dumbledore raised his hand.

"All in good time," he replied, simply.

Harry, however, decided he had just about had enough.

"How could you? You're supposed to be my sister!" he spat out, before he could stop himself. The congregation stared at him, then at Persephone, then back to him, and finally at the doorway where Snape had made his exit not moments ago.

"Your sister?" Lupin exclaimed, as though he also couldn't take much more.

Persephone rolled her eyes.

"Right," she announced, "for those of you who have just joined us, I'll make things simple, okay? Harry and I have the same mother, but different fathers- drunken night at some crappy hotel, not very romantic, I'll spare you the details. I went to live with my aunt and uncle, who have looked after me pretty much since I was born. My mother and father visited sometimes, things were all hunky-dory, until my old man decided to go and join Voldemort's services. Didn't go down too well, as I'm sure you can imagine. Anyway, he left them- the reasons for which I'm sure Alex will furnish you with if you ask her nicely- and he and Albus over here decided to put him back into Voldemort's circle as a spy. Trouble was, I existed, and as such was a pretty good bargaining chip against him if Voldemort ever found out. So, I was hidden under a Fidelius Charm- my entire existence wiped out of the memories of anyone who had ever met me. Lily Potter, my mother, though nobody knew, was my Secret Keeper. This worked great, until Voldemort killed all the Potters, excluding young Harry here..."

"And you," Tonks added. Persephone shook her head.

"No, not excluding me. This is where the tale gets interesting. I died, my Secret Keeper died, and as such, the Fidelius Charm was broken, and everyone knew I existed, and also knew I was dead. About a month later, I somehow came back into the land of the living- if you want more details on that, ask Harry here, for he's been a walking, taking example of hypocrisy by being so furious over being spied on himself, yet has been snooping on my life ever since I arrived at Hogwarts." She glared at Harry at this point, who found he couldn't really disagree with her, but continued to glare back at her anyway.

"So," she continued, "I went to live with my aunt, who kept all this from me for my protection. I didn't remember a thing- I suppose when your Secret Keeper dies, then you die, then you come back to life, it does badly affect the workings of a Fidelius Charm. Went to Durmstrang, was taken out by my aunt for protection when I found out about a Death Eater on campus; went to Beaubaxtons, where I found out pretty much the same thing, but was drowned for my troubles, was revived by Old Ridley here; trotted off to work for the Brethren in their Information sector; came to Hogwarts last September and you know the rest. Everyone clear? Good, now can I explain the rest of the story so that my brother does at least understand why we've all apparently conspired against him?" she snapped. Everyone in the room nodded silently, except for Dumbledore, who chuckled.

"Well, well, Lily was your mother? I must say, both she and Severus kept that one quiet," he said, looking off into the distance.

"She never told us... bloody hell!" Lupin exclaimed, looking quite pale.

Persephone laughed.

"If that was bad enough for you, Mr. Lupin, I suggest you sit down for my encore," she advised.

Harry looked Persephone straight in the eye.

"Go on, then," he said. "I'm all ears."

"Right. Well, the story does actually start with Faith. She was captured by the Ministry and thrown into Azkaban without trial for the murder of Ryan Mitchell, which we all knew here to be erroneous- the Ministry have never felt the need for a system of justice when it comes to our members, and Macnair did everything in his power to ensure that Faith was suspected of being amongst our number. We tried going through the correct channels, setting up hearings and appeal cases, but all for nought. It appeared the Ministry didn't really want to hear us out. So I decided the time had come for action. I'd seen what that place did to people, and the last thing I wanted was to leave Faith languishing in there. I knew her too well, you see. I knew it would be the death of her."

Harry looked across at Faith, who was now sat with her finger in her ears, humming loudly. He tried to compare her with that pretty, bright young girl who had been carrying that Quidditch Cup with Persephone, and shuddered at the accuracy of Persephone's prediction.

"So," she continued, "I wanted to get her out, as soon as possible."

She began to pace across the floor a little.

"So, Harry, you remember I told you that when you want to find something out, your best bet is to go to the one person you know will have the answers?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, curiosity getting the better of him. Persephone smiled grimly.

"Well, I did just that. I went to find the only person I'd ever known to break out of Azkaban."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in horror.

"Sirius Black?" Hermione asked. Persephone nodded.

"Exactly. I tell you," she replied, smiling with the memory, "the old bastard was a difficult man to track down."

Here, she broke off from her speech and lifted a large gold bowl from the shelf near her head, placed it on the floor and tapped her right finger to her temple, drawing out a silvery coil and dropping it into the bowl. She muttered some sort of charm, and the bowl buckled and formed itself into what could only be described as a large mirror.

"I think it'll be easier if I just show you what happened," she said, as she lifted her left hand and placed it next to the mirror.

"Sinistra; Exhibeo!" she commanded, and the mirror began to crackle, and an image filled the reflective surface. It was one of a night sky in a foreign city.

"This is New Orleans, by the way- July of 1995," Persephone added, by way of an explanation. Harry recalled that this must have been after the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

"What was he doing in New Orleans?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, that was my doing. I asked him to alert the old members of the Order... Well, one of them had gone on holiday, and time really was of the essence," Dumbledore replied.

The scene in the Pensieve was lively, despite the darkness. Neon lights shone upon the busy streets, and people of all ages were gathering, dancing, singing to various jazz tunes and the like. A man was stood against the darkness, his features obscured by shadow, though Harry could vaguely recognise the strong features and dark hair that the man brushed his fingers through to keep it settling attractively against his ears. It was his godfather, no doubt about it, and he appeared to be unnerved by something. He kept checking over his shoulder as he made his way through the shadows.

"Hey, sweetheart," a voice drawled- it sounded like an American woman. Sirius turned defensively in the direction of the speaker.

"What do you want?" he snarled, gruffly. The woman smiled. She was about the same height as Sirius, with dark hair that was swept up into a chignon and she was dressed in an elegant red dress that had a high-necked front and fell into folds of red fabric around her knees. She looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

"What can I say," she leered, "I'm well travelled. Have we met before?" she asked, sipping from a cocktail glass.

"Doubt it," Sirius sneered, "I'd remember you. Now clear off."

The woman ignored him.

"Jeez, you're really not in the party mood, are you? Why come to the Jazz Quarter if you ain't in the mood for a party?" she giggled. Sirius pushed past her and walked down the street, but she followed him, her high-heels clicking on the ground.

"Wait a second, I'll remember you in a minute..." She frowned in thought, then suddenly clicked her fingers.

"Oh, that's it, you're Sirius Black, aren't you?"

Sirius turned around sharply upon hearing his name, and grabbed the woman's wrist sharply, at which she laughed.

"Ah yes, Sirius Black, famed convict- the only wizard, I believe, who has escaped Azkaban, am I right?"

"Then you'll know to keep away from me," he threatened, with venom in his voice. The woman merely smiled, and continued to follow.

"What do you want?" he snarled. The woman gave him a curious lop-sided grin.

"What can I say, I'm a convict groupie," she replied, sarcastically, but with a coquettish smile.

Sirius clearly wasn't amused.

"Just get out of here, you stupid woman. Nobody has heard of my crimes here, you'd be dead before anyone cottoned on."

The woman smiled, but this time more frostily, and Harry suddenly realised where he had seen her before. It was his sister.

"Want to put money on that, Black?" she replied, coldly, having dropped her previous affected accent entirely. Sirius looked stunned, but not so stunned as he did once the woman grabbed his arm and twisted him against the floor, holding him fast.

"Get off me," he snarled. Persephone laughed.

"Appearances can be deceptive, huh, Black," she said, quietly, but with forcefulness in her voice.

"What do you want?" he asked, this time less threateningly. Persephone smiled and let him go, at which he fell onto the pavement.

"Now you're talking," she said, "come this way." She beckoned towards a dimly lit bar, and Sirius, having pulled himself up into a standing position, duly followed.

The next scene involved the two of them sitting in a poorly lit corner of the bar, a drink in hand, and Sirius looking grim.

"Information," Persephone said, suddenly. "I'm looking for information."

"What kind could I possibly help you with?" he snarled. "I've been in Azkaban for twelve years."

"The kind that helped you escape from Azkaban."

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

"You don't look like you need to break out of anywhere," he replied. Persephone took a sip of her drink and shook her head.

"Don't want to break out; I want to break in," she replied, quickly. Sirius laughed harshly.

"What the hell would you want to go to that place for?" He leaned in towards her. "Believe me, it's not the place for a young lady."

"I know," she retorted, "which is why I want to break a young lady out of there."

Sirius's curiosity appeared to be piqued by this remark.

"Interesting. Enlighten me," he asked. Persephone leaned in towards him.

"I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Black, of the current situation," she began, looking deep into his eyes, and Harry noticed Sirius did not look away. "Voldemort's back. Now, I don't care what the Ministry have got to say about this- I'm sure you more than anyone are aware of their various... miscalculations. Somehow, certain inmates of Azkaban have been seen to escape- certain inmates who share one thing in common, and that would be a particularly ugly skull tattoo, know what I'm saying?"

Sirius looked blankly at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Death Eaters?" she prompted, at which he nodded slowly.

"Well," Persephone continued, "let's just say I've always been one for equal opportunities. If one group's getting out, I say let's free one more. So." She slammed her glass down on the table ferociously. "Please, now I've enlightened you, I'd appreciate it if you did me the same courtesy."

Sirius sighed.

"Well, I slipped through the bars, in my animagus form," he replied, simply.

"What form do you take?" she asked.

"Dog. I was pretty thin back then, mind."

Persephone pinched his forearm.

"You're pretty thin, now, if you don't mind my mentioning." She looked around and made eye contact with a waiter, who duly walked over to their table and allowed her to order some food. Once he had walked off, she turned her attention back to Sirius.

"I can't bear to see a malnourished man, so please eat up when it arrives," she ordered.

"Thanks," Sirius replied, clearly a little astonished.

"Dog animagus, eh?" Persephone mused. Sirius merely nodded.

"Well," Persephone continued, "I can get in and out then, no probs. The girl has no such capabilities- what say you on that front?"

Sirius frowned, and his forehead creased with the action.

"Not sure- if she's your size, I'd say no chance," he replied. Persephone raised one eyebrow at him. Sirius shrugged.

"Come on, you're a tall drink of water, no mistaking," he replied, unapologetically. Persephone merely smiled back.

"She's about five foot two, maybe seven and a half stone," she explained.

"When was she put in?"

"December before last," she replied, swiftly. Sirius frowned once more.

"So, you can take a stone or two off her weight already- I'd guess at around six. You say you'll be alright?"

"I've got my own abilities."

"What form, if it's not too forward a question?"

"It is, and let's just say I fly," Persephone shot back, smoothly. Sirius raised his palms in mild rebuke.

"You are secretive, aren't you?" he asked, with an amused smile.

"I have my reasons."

"Fair enough. Your friend might have difficulties with the bars. If you could somehow get them removed, or stretched, but they're wrought iron..."

"Not a problem."

"And they're high up," Sirius added. Persephone's expression didn't change.

"Again, not a problem."

"You have a lot of friends that fly?"

"I have a lot of friends," she replied, silkily, in a manner that clearly suggested the matter was closed.

The waiter came round and placed a plate of chicken wings on the table and another round of drinks, for which Persephone tipped him heavily. He smiled gratefully, and walked off. She gestured for Sirius to eat, and he did so appreciatively.

"So," he said between mouthfuls, "you can fly up to the bars, break them open, sneak in as your animagus form, carry her out through the bars from whence you came, and skidaddle off to freedom with the wind in your hair?"

"That's about the plan," she replied, sipping on her new drink, but not taking her eyes off him.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow at her.

"You know," he said, "you remind me of someone."

Persephone tilted her head back and laughed.

"Please, Mr. Black, if it's the one about your 'Old Flame', I've heard it before from more handsome and clever men than you- and I was unimpressed then," she retorted, with a cool smile.

Sirius returned her cold smile.

"Actually, I was thinking more of an old childhood enemy," he replied, "one whom I still dislike to this day, and he me."

"How droll. I remind you of a man whom you hate. That's fine, Mr. Black, you don't have to like me, you just need to tell me what I want to know."

"And you do it again! Anyone would think you were related," he laughed. Persephone shrugged.

"In this crazy world, who knows? Anyway," she commanded, "anything else I need to know before I embark on my mission to protect and survive?"

Sirius shrugged.

"Not really- watch out for the Dementors, which I'd imagine you'd already thought about. They'll notice your friend's disappearance pretty quickly, but not quickly enough. You can make it to Gloucester before they act if you're quick. Just make sure you know which route you're taking."

Persephone nodded. Sirius pointed to the half-empty plate of chicken wings.

"I'd grab some yourself, you look like you need fattening up," he replied, smoothly. Persephone snorted at him.

"Please, does my head look too big for my body? Besides, I've already eaten," she replied.

"Fair enough. Oh, one more thing," Sirius announced.

Persephone looked up at him.

"Yes?"

"The Dementors. They will sense you the moment you enter that place, though if you're in your animagus form, they'll probably pay little attention. The other part of your rescue party better be on their guard, though."

Persephone waved her hand in dismissal of the thought.

"No problem," she replied. "The Dementors don't care for the walking dead much, do they?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"No, they can't stand them. Soulless and tainted with death- not much good for feeding off, you see. Why?"

Persephone smiled enigmatically.

"Well, my compadre will be alright then. So might I, come to think of it," she replied.

"Really? Care to share..."

Sirius caught a glimpse of Persephone's steely glare.

"Or maybe not," he finished, with a shrug of his shoulders. Persephone smiled.

"Good man," she said, before standing up.

"Well," she announced, "I've taken up far too much of your valuable time already, Mr. Black."

She extended her hand, and Sirius shook it respectfully.

"Good luck," he offered. Persephone smiled back at him.

"I'll say thank you now, and assure you that if I succeed, I'll be in your debt."

Sirius stood up himself, and Harry saw once again that, with Persephone in her red high heels, the two appeared the same height.

"Actually," he replied, "I may well need you to pay that debt as soon as possible."

Persephone's ears almost visibly pricked up.

"Oh, do tell," she coaxed. Sirius looked pensive for a moment.

"What with things as they are in the Ministry, as I'm sure you're all too aware, I've got to keep a low profile. However," he continued, "I want to, I need to clear my name. I have responsibilities to think of..." He looked her straight in the eye. "I am innocent," he almost pleaded, "I didn't kill those people..."

Persephone put a hand on his shoulder.

"I believe you," she replied, "and if I get my friend out, on my word, I will move Heaven and Earth to see you are repaid."

Sirius looked incredulous for a moment.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked. Persephone offered him another of her lop-sided smiles.

"Let's just say I have a pretty good idea of when I'm being lied to, Mr. Black."

She turned to leave, and Sirius' expression changed from confusion, to horror.

"What? Wait!" he yelled, running after her. He managed to catch up with her fairly swiftly, at which she turned to face him and smiled coolly once more.

"Dear me, Mr. Black," she said, smoothly, "you really ought to exercise a little more caution. You don't know who's ab..."

Sirius had already thrown her against a wall and was staring frantically at her, pinning her by her neck to the wall.

"You're a Legilmens," he spat, "what did you see?"

Considering she was currently being threatened by an escapee from Azkaban, Persephone looked remarkably calm.

"That's my business and mine alone," she retorted. Sirius pushed her against the wall of the dark alley once again, at which Persephone sniggered.

"Oh please, Mr. Black," she replied, "we could have another fight, or even a duel if you'd prefer. But what with the Ministry no doubt crawling all over you like flies on rotting meat the second you cast a spell and alert them to your presence, I'd think it unwise, wouldn't you?"

Sirius appeared to rethink this, and slowly let her go. Persephone merely straightened her dress and looked him in the eyes, at which he looked carefully away. She raised her hands.

"Hey, no tricks here, Mr. Black," she replied, but suddenly stopped still.

"What is it?" Sirius asked, but was silenced by Persephone, who took off her heels and crept silently along the alleyway.

Sirius stood and watched as she crept up behind a tallish man with short white hair, before expertly cursing him into silence and dragging him into the alley with her. She threw him to his knees and inspected her quarry.

"Well, well, well," she drawled. "Mr. Karkaroff, welcome back, we've missed you!"

Karkaroff coughed up a little blood and spat it out onto the floor, before looking up at her.

"Beauchamp!" he hissed. Persephone smiled.

"I bet you thought you'd never see me again!" she exclaimed. "Oh, what a simply darling reunion!"

She looked across at Sirius.

"He was my Headmaster during my school days," she offered, by way of explanation. "Nasty, weak, little rodenty man, I recall. Looks like little has changed."

She dragged him up to a standing position, and pulled the sleeve of his left arm up, exposing an ugly, almost black, tattoo that was unmistakeably a Dark Mark.

"Now then," Persephone mused, "why aren't you with your old Master for reunion cocktails, hmm?"

Karkaroff looked mutinously at her, until she struck the side of his knee with a hefty looking heel from her shoe, at which he keeled over onto the floor.

"He's back," he managed to say, before collapsing onto the cobblestone pavement. Persephone rolled her eyes.

"No stamina, I tell you," she tutted to a bemused Sirius.

"Need a hand, Beau?" a voice called, as a tall, reddish-blonde man sauntered down the alleyway. Persephone grabbed the now unconscious Karkaroff, and tossed him unceremoniously to the man.

"Do something with this, will you, Sam?" she requested. "Find out everything you can, but be careful- he's a coward, and we all know how reliable they are. I'll be with you shortly."

Sam offered her a lax salute, before hoisting Karkaroff onto his shoulders and carrying him off.

Sirius looked at her suspiciously.

"What are you?" he asked, staring at her as though she were a completely unknown entity. Persephone smiled and shrugged.

"Perhaps you already know," she replied, before turning away from Sirius and walking down the street.

"What I said about that debt is true," she shouted back to him, "just name your time and place, and I'll do all that I can, and more."

The mirror suddenly reverted back to its reflective state, and Harry caught Persephone say something to Alex.

"Why did I agree to that?" she asked, in mock irritation.

"Because you knew it would be unlikely to fall under your job heading?" Alex said, with a hoarse laugh. Persephone nudged her hard in the ribs.

"So, you and my godfather struck a deal, great," Harry said, bitterly. "What has that got to do with spying on me?"

"You have got a Messiah complex, haven't you, kid?" Alex spat. "This isn't all about you!"

"Yes it is!" Harry shouted back. "It's got everything to do with me, because apparently, I'm the only one who can stop Voldemort! Didn't your spying reveal the prophecy?" he snapped. Shacklebolt looked alarmed.

"Harry! What in Merlin's name do you..." He trailed off as Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.

Alex ignored him, and instead surveyed Harry coolly.

"Of course it did, and how exactly do you think you'll fulfil it? Just waltz up to him and ask him to stop killing people in a bid to achieve global domination? Who exactly do you think will be setting the wheels in motion, working out what it is you have to do, ensuring your survival so that you can do whatever it is you need to do, stopping the Death Eaters from killing all and sundry, getting various factions onto our side and away from Voldemort's and generally fighting him and his forces at every turn?" Her voice got steadily angrier at every word.

"Leave him alone," Tonks piped up, defensively. Alex turned to face her.

"I'll do what I want; it's my effing headquarters you lot have all barged into!"

"So, you broke Faith out, you owe Sirius the receipt of a posthumous pardon, but why does Dumbledore know all this?" Hermione asked, politely.

"Yeah!" Harry agreed, albeit more aggressively.

Persephone tutted, and Harry was instantly reminded of Hermione nagging him to do his homework.

"Kids today," she remonstrated, "simply don't pay attention! Think about it, Harry, Hermione, he figured out I'm a Leglimens, why would he be so worried?"

Harry had to admit he didn't have a clue, but something in Hermione's expression suggested she did.

"You and Sirius spent a lot of time staring at each other; you could have easily read his mind, which I imagine you did, and seen the work of the Order, or at least the beginning of their plans, which would be enough to worry Sirius. You'd have passed that information onto the Brethren; Sirius would have passed on his suspicion that you knew to Dumbledore."

Alex clapped her hands.

"Well, this one's got a spark in her, at any rate," she replied. Persephone merely nodded.

"Got it in one, Hermione. In fact, I've a sneaking suspicion Mr. Black suspected I worked for the Brethren, and passed that on too; am I right, Albus?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"That is true. I hired you, partly on your evident skill, partly so I could keep an eye on you and see exactly what you were all up to."

Alex smiled.

"A man after my own heart; I admire guile and forethought, Professor," she replied. Dumbledore smiled graciously.

"It didn't take long to realise that Persephone was working for an organization very much on our side. She even shared the information she found about Severus having worked on our side with Miss Ridley here, whom of course I knew plenty about from Severus back in the December of 1979, as I'm sure you've already heard. Your organization has stopped a good many Death Eater attacks this past year. I must say even we had difficulty keeping up, and we've got the resources of the Ministry," he replied, appreciatively.

"Well, we have our own resources, which does make things run a little more speedily," Alex conceded. Dumbledore smiled.

"That I can well believe," he replied, respectfully.

Harry was about to awkwardly make amends with his half-sister, and apologise for being so angry at her for doing a job even Dumbledore thought necessary, when something happened to wipe the thought completely from his mind.

Faith had stood up, and held Hermione at knifepoint; a large crystal on a string clutched in her other hand.

"I've heard enough!" she screamed, and the whole congregation jumped from the sudden noise.

"Faith, put her down," Persephone calmly ordered.

"Shut up, you traitor!" Faith shrieked back. "You're filthy, you've been tainted- you share his blood!"

Persephone looked as though she had been delivered a physical blow.

"Faith, calm down, we can talk about this," Alex reasoned.

"No more talking! Just about bloody through talking!" Faith raged, dragging Hermione closer to the black Maltese cross on the floor of the workshop.

"Just stay where you are," she said, spinning the hands of the odd clock face Harry had noticed when he first entered the room. "Just stay there, and nobody will get hurt."

"Faith, no!" Persephone commanded. Faith laughed harshly, and took out her wand, pointing it at the cross.

"Commuto tempus!" she commanded, and a white light jetted out of her wand, hitting the Maltese cross. Slowly, the four iron staffs began to glow an eerie red, the crystal balls atop them began to glow blue, then green, then yellow, until they all turned black, and an almighty force blew through the room, causing Harry's hair to stand on end as though he had just put his hands on a working Van de Graff generator. One look at Tonks' almost spherical pink hair told him he was not alone.

Suddenly, a huge bolt of lightening stuck the Maltese cross, and both Faith and Hermione vanished with a loud 'crack'.

"What happened?" Tonks asked faintly.

"Where did they go?" Harry demanded. Alex looked across at Persephone, who was examining the machine with a frown etched onto her forehead.

"Hogwarts," Persephone replied.

"Why would she take her back there?" Dumbledore asked, stroking his beard.

"Hogwarts in 1977," Persephone added, without missing a beat.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's eyes widened in astonishment.

"That's impossible, it simply can't be done!" he exclaimed. Persephone laughed darkly.

"As far as Faith is concerned, 'can't' is a four letter word," she replied, swiftly.

"A time-machine that can take you back years?" Dumbledore appeared intrigued. "How on Earth did she manage it?"

"She's a genius, and technically, it's a time-and-place-machine," Alex explained, pointing at the map on the floor, which now had a tiny green light flashing on it in the place where Hogwarts should be.

Harry looked across at the three faces of the clock, and saw that one hand pointed to the number 77 on the largest circle, the letter J on the middle circle, and the number 9 on the smallest, and innermost circle.

"9th June 1977?" Harry asked.

"On a Thursday," Persephone replied, in the affirmative. Harry looked at her.

"How did you know that?" he asked. Persephone shrugged.

"I'm good at arithmetic," she replied, simply.

"Why would she want to go back in time, and take Hermione with her?" Lupin asked, looking concerned. Alex shrugged.

"She wants to change time, I'd wager. Most likely remove Severus from the present... but Perce, what about you? You don't think she's trying to get rid of you, too?" she asked, suddenly sounding more concerned. Persephone shrugged.

"If she is, she's gone back two years too late. I was approaching my second birthday around then."

Lupin's brows furrowed at this remark.

"Hang on, Persephone," he laughed, shaking his head. "That doesn't make any sense. Severus was seventeen then, and you were two? He would have to have been fifteen when he, you know..." Lupin looked across at Harry and coloured up a little as he spoke. "He made you, and I think you'll agree that..."

"Fourteen," Persephone replied, simply. "He was fourteen. Lily was fifteen, when they conceived."

Lupin's mouth opened, but no audible sound emitted from him. Eventually, he shook his head in dismay and managed a, "I didn't think you could get people pregnant at fourteen."

Persephone looked down at herself.

"And yet, here I am," she retorted.

Alex began to pace the floor in frustration.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"Well, stopping her might be a good idea," Tonks replied, with sarcasm in her voice. Alex gave her a condescending look.

"Well, yes, but how exactly do we go about doing that without changing the past, and therefore as a consequence; the present?" she retorted. Tonks' expression darkened somewhat at this remark.

"We'd better think of something!" she snapped back.

"Do you think she'll go through with it?" Dumbledore asked, serenely. Persephone smiled grimly.

"It's all she's ever desired to do." She sighed, and dragged a hand through her hair. "She's been working on that thing for years- she just wants her family back."

"Is that so bad?" Harry asked. "I know killing Snape is bad." He fought to make it sound convincing. "But what about if he changed? Somehow didn't become a Death Eater? If anyone could do that, it'd be Hermione. She's really into this whole 'equal rights' thing..."

Persephone shook her head.

"The Scott family, the Bancrofts, the Joneses, the McKenzies..."

Harry's eyes widened.

"He killed all those people as a Death Eater?"

"No- he saved them all as a spy," Dumbledore replied. Alex looked up at him.

"If he doesn't take the Mark, or if he's killed before time, plenty more will suffer. Faith is playing with far more than her own wishes here, she's messing about with the lives of many more Muggles, and with the Brethren itself. Trust me." Her voice sounded oddly sharp to Harry at this point. "If it hadn't been for Severus, I'd have been killed, or worse. Either way, we wouldn't be working the way we are now- we'd be choking in our own hatred. Everyone who's a part of this has lost something, or someone, to Voldemort's forces. We survive by paying forwards, not paying back- vengeance is something that hinders!"

Everyone in the room looked at a loss, until Persephone snapped her fingers in what appeared to be triumph.

"Got it!" she announced. Sam cocked his head at her.

"Well, don't give it to me," he joked. Persephone shot him a mock scowl.

"Very funny, Sam. I've got an idea."

"Do share," Alex commanded.

"Right, I reckon there's a way we can get out of this mess. Harry?"

Harry looked up at Persephone.

"Yeah?"

"How are Hermione's skills of deception?" she asked. Harry fought to suppress a snigger, and failed.

"She can hold her own," he replied, thinking about Rita Skeeter and Dolores Umbridge, in that order. Persephone offered a sly smile.

"Perfect," she replied.

"What do you need?" Alex asked, impatiently.

"My old Durmstrang robes, Sam and Augustine, and a willing go-between that wasn't at, or known to, Hogwarts in 1977."

Dumbledore looked at Persephone with a mixture of interest and approval.

"I see where you're going with this," he replied.

"I don't," Shacklebolt added sharply. "What are you planning?"

"Damage limitation," she replied, evasively.

"Enlighten me?" he probed, with a little more force.

"Well, I'm guessing that if Faith has gone to finish off a seventeen year old Severus, we'll need someone to keep him out of Faith's way that won't attract too much attention. A small army of Brethrenites might not do that, but a young girl- say, a Durmstrang student whose family are looking to keep her away from the Dark Arts and Voldemort's clutches on a visit to Hogwarts- might be just the ticket, leaving myself, Sam and Augustine free to find Faith and drag her kicking and screaming into 1997."

"What can we do? We hardly want to leave Hermione alone in that situation," Lupin queried. Persephone smiled.

"You want to come back to 1977 and run the risk of meeting your past self? I'd rather you didn't."

Lupin looked disdainfully at her.

"I'm fully aware of that fact, thank you, but what about Tonks?" he countered. Persephone shook her head.

"I know she's a Metamorphagus, but I really need someone very stealthy to be a go-between. They have to be unnoticeable."

Tonks looked outraged.

"Are you saying I'm not stealthy?" she demanded. Alex grinned.

"I think she's saying you tripped our intruder sensors by kicking the welcome mat across the floor of the entrance, that good enough for you?"

Tonks glared at her, but appeared to have admitted defeat.

Harry looked at the congregation, who were currently coming to no decision, and sighed in irritation.

"I'll go," he announced. Persephone laughed.

"No way, little H," she replied. Harry glared at her.

"Hermione's my friend!" he retorted.

"And you look like a carbon copy of your old man, that won't arouse suspicion now, will it?" she replied, sarcastically.

"I can wear my Invisibility Cloak," he retorted, and before Persephone could argue, added, "and I know Hogwarts almost inside-out, and Hermione's used to conversing with me under it, and ..."

"All right, all right, you've made your point!" Persephone sighed, and motioned for him to join their ranks. She bent over in order to make her eyes level with his.

"This is serious, Harry," she whispered. "One false move and we could change all time..."

"I know, I know- I have used a Time-Turner before," he sighed. Persephone looked at him with suspicion.

"When did you use a Time-Turner?" she asked.

"Hermione was given one in order to do loads of classes in third year. We got into a bit of a tangle and had to use it to set a few wrongs right," he replied.

"You can tell me the full story later," Persephone conceded, and merely pushed him towards the others in the party, and watched him as he put on his Invisibility Cloak.

"Hang on, this machine uses magic. How can Augustine use it, if he's immune to magic?" Harry asked, suddenly, whilst in the middle of putting on his Invisibility Cloak. Augustine smiled at Harry's half-visible body.

"Ah, vampires are immune to most magic spells, yes," he explained, "however, the magic used to power this time-machine is so potent, even we are not resistant."

Harry nodded in understanding, and proceeded to cover himself completely with his Invisibility Cloak.

Sam, however, suddenly jerked his hand to his ear and scratched it wildly. He looked sheepishly at Persephone.

"I might have to give the covert operation a miss," he admitted. Persephone looked at him with an expression of understanding.

"Time of the Month?" she enquired. Sam laughed hoarsely.

"Yep, bad moon rising, and all."

Tonks, Shacklebolt and Dumbledore looked at him in surprise.

"You're a werewolf?" Shacklebolt asked. Sam smiled coldly at him.

"Yep, and don't even think of getting me registered," he growled, before offering Lupin a wave.

"Like knows like, eh?" he asked, at which Lupin smiled weakly.

Alex quickly reached up to a nearby shelf for what looked to Harry like a tranquilliser gun, but Lupin motioned to her to stop.

"It's okay, I've been taking Wolfsbane Potion for the last three years," he explained, and Alex lowered her hands. Persephone inexplicably burst out laughing.

"What, so your surname's Lupin, and you're a werewolf?" She burst into a fresh peal of laughter, before calming down. "Oh, the irony- you must have been a laughing-stock at school!" she tittered.

Lupin raised his eyebrows at her and fixed her with possibly the most malevolent glare Harry had ever seen him express outside of being faced with Peter Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack during Harry's third year. Persephone looked suitably embarrassed.

Sam grinned, and turned to face Persephone.

"Excellent. I guess we'll just pad around here and you can tell us everything once you..."

He stopped speaking, and began to transform before Harry's very eyes, howling in agony as he did so, accompanied by an equally pained Lupin. Harry shuddered at the image of two grown men simultaneously reduced to such torture, and a quick glance around the room confirmed he was not alone in his concern.

"Well, we're one man down," Persephone said, "care to make up the numbers, Tonks?"

Tonks looked slightly askance at her.

"So, no longer too maladroit for you, eh?" she replied.

"You don't need stealth to wrestle Faith to the ground," Persephone retorted, handing them each a pendant that appeared to be made of the same crystal the orbs of the time machine were. Harry gazed at it in wonder. It shimmered in the absence of light and felt as light as a feather.

"Transducers for the machine," Persephone announced, "as soon as we're ready to come back, simply point your wand at that pendant and use the End Enchantment spell. You'll be transported back here instantly."

Alex handed Persephone a bundle of blood-red robes with fur around the collar and cuffs, and a black woollen robe of some description.

"You sure these'll fit her?"

"I'll sort it out when we find her," she replied, as she put on the black woollen robes, and fastened them around her neck. Wearing that heavy woollen cloak, Harry thought she looked vaguely reminiscent of somebody's governess.

Alex gave her a small nod.

"Good luck," she said, as Persephone rounded up Augustine, Tonks and Harry and positioned them in the centre of the Maltese cross.

"Dextera; Commuto tempus," she commanded, and the entire room began to fill with static once again. Harry looked around and saw jets of white light fly towards him, and closed his eyes, ready to brace the impact. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his ribs, and then the sensation of collapsing into an endless chasm, broken only by the feeling of what he imagined it must feel like to be folded in on yourself.

When he opened his eyes again, he saw a place that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. 


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Little Jump to the Left...

Harry looked around in astonishment. It was Hogwarts, no doubt about it, and they were standing just outside the school grounds. He looked at his watch, vaguely wondering if it would tell the time where he was at the moment, or the time it was back in the Brethren's headquarters. The watch said it was quarter past twelve, which, judging by all the students milling about, was pretty accurate. Lessons had just finished, and people were enjoying their lunch-hour off in the mild June weather, either sitting around the Great Lake, or wandering through the ground. Not one of them paid attention to the four people who had just appeared in front of them. Well, Harry had to admit, he'd be concerned if they could see through his Invisibility Cloak, but the others? Perhaps the students in the seventies hadn't read 'Hogwarts; A History', either, and were unaware of the apparition rule.

"Wow, the seventies," Persephone commented, "the time that taste forgot."

On closer inspection of the uniforms, Harry saw her point. They had a definite air of ostentatious-ness that bordered on obscene- the Hogwarts crest was just a little bit too large, the sleeves that little bit too wide... Those who had evidently finished lessons for the day and were no longer attired in their uniforms were the worst. Robe colours clashed, trousers had legs that were nearly the same width as the waistband, and what in the name of Merlin were they wearing on their feet?

Tonks giggled.

"Wow, to think my mum dressed like that," she commented, warmly. Persephone smiled.

"Well, much as I could discuss fashions with you all day, Tonks, we do have more pressing matters to attend to, like finding Hermione," she replied, scanning the grounds evidently for signs of a head of bushy brown hair.

It didn't take long. Hermione was sat under a tree, obscured from the view of most of the students, and looked very dazed. Harry pelted over to her, and Persephone, Tonks and Augustine followed.

"Hermione! Are you okay?" Harry gasped, before realising that Hermione didn't know he was clad in his Invisibility Cloak. Her horrified expression soon gave way to one of relief when she recognised his voice and saw the three adults running towards her.

"Oh, Harry- yes, I'm fine. I've only been here a few seconds."

Harry screwed up his face in consternation, then realised that nobody could see this, so spoke instead.

"How could you only have been here a few seconds? We left at least ten minutes after you did!"

"One of the perks of time-travel," Persephone pointed out.

"Do you know where Faith went, Hermione?" Augustine asked, gently. Hermione shrugged, and pointed in the direction of the school.

"She went over there, but I don't know what for, or where exactly she intends to go."

Persephone smiled grimly.

"We think we've got an idea. She's going to try and change time by despatching your Potions professor."

Hermione clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. Persephone put a hand on her shoulder in comfort.

"Fear ye not, Hermione, for we have a plan."

Hermione sighed in relief.

"But we need your help to execute it," Persephone added. Hermione frowned suddenly.

"What do I need to do?" she asked, warily. Persephone looked away at a chirruping bird in the trees.

"Nothing much," she protested, "just pretend to be a pure-blood witch who is visiting from Durmstrang..."

Hermione's eyes nearly popped clean out of her head.

"Pretend to be what!" she hissed. Persephone smiled at her in a manner she clearly hoped would be appeasing.

"Look, it can't be that hard- I've got my old robes here, which shouldn't take too long to adjust to fit you. Viktor told you loads about Durmstrang, certainly enough to pass off as a regular student there to these lot." She jerked her thumb at a couple of passing students, who were too wrapped up in their own conversation to notice the five congregated around the tree.

"Why me, though?" Hermione asked. Persephone smiled.

"Because you're Muggle-born," she replied. Hermione frowned at this.

"That doesn't make any sense," she retorted. Persephone's smile didn't change a bit.

"It makes perfect sense," she continued. "Think of all the known pure-blood families in the UK- they all look a certain way. What better way to feign being a member of a pure-blood family unknown to the UK than by being a Muggle-born that certainly won't look similar to any other students here. It's perfect."

"But I can't speak much of any Eastern European language!" Hermione protested.

"You can speak a little- I know 'cause Viktor told me he taught you a bit of Bulgarian. That'll be enough for this lot- they won't be able to speak it either," Persephone countered.

"What about my accent?" Hermione asked, sounding slightly more fretful.

"No worries- if anyone asks, tell them you've been sent to the UK every summer to brush up on your English, and have picked up the accent. Loads of kids from Durmstrang did it when I was there," Persephone soothed.

Hermione sighed.

"Okay, I'll do it," she replied, firmly. Persephone clapped her hands.

"Excellent- now, put these on," she ordered, handing Hermione the bundle of red robes. Hermione obliged, and Harry saw they hung on her as though they had previously belonged to a giant. Persephone frowned, then pulled out her wand.

"Don't want to arouse suspicion," she added, by way of an explanation as to why she was not using wandless magic. "Hmm, shouldn't take too long..." She pointed her wand at the robes on Hermione's body, and muttered, "Apto vestimentum."

The robes began to shrink around Hermione's body. As soon as the hem of the robes touched Hermione's anklebone, Persephone muttered, "Strigo," and the robes stayed that size.

"Wow, where did you learn to do that?" Tonks asked.

"Ever since I turned thirteen and found it impossible to find robes that reached my ankles that weren't designed for men. The only robes I have ever bought in a shop that fitted me were my school ones, and that's only because they will fit them there free of charge. I just find it easier, not to mention cheaper, to do it myself," Persephone replied.

"Persephone," Tonks asked, at which the woman in question looked down to meet her eyes.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you get me to transform into some unrecognisable student and find Snape? It'll be safer than getting Hermione to do it..."

"Because I need you to metamorphose into a seventeen year old Severus Snape in order to flush Faith out," she replied, quickly. Tonks screwed up her face in disgust.

"Great, I get all the good jobs," she sighed.

Persephone looked to Hermione.

"Right, you're a Branimir- they're a pure-blood Bulgarian family not very well-known over here. Severus certainly won't know of them. One added bonus is that they have some English ancestors, so we'll give you an English sounding first name..."

"Popelina?" Augustine suggested. Persephone looked at him.

"Don't be daft!"

"My lady was called Popelina," he replied, defensively. Persephone smiled at him kindly.

"I don't mean to be rude here, Gus," she said, "but your lady did die in the Sixteenth Century, didn't she?"

Augustine nodded.

"I take it that it's no longer a common name?" he asked. Persephone nodded, though Harry was fairly uncertain as to whether it had ever been a common name, Sixteenth Century or no.

"How about Florence?" Tonks suggested. Persephone clicked her fingers.

"Perfect- what say you, Hermione?"

"Florence Branimir," Hermione mused. She appeared to role the name on her tongue, testing it out. "That feels good," she said, eventually.

"Right," Persephone announced, "this is the plan then. Hermione, Harry; you two go and find Severus and keep him out of our way."

"How?" Harry asked, from underneath his invisibility cloak.

"I'm sure you'll both think of something. You're the foreign girl, Hermione, remember?"

Harry saw Hermione look at the space he was currently occupying, then at Persephone.

"Huh?" they both said in chorus. Persephone rolled her eyes.

"The foreign girl! Whenever the foreign girl enters a school, almost every single boy vies for her attention, no matter how pretty or clever she is."

Harry looked blankly at Hermione, except as he was under his Invisibility Cloak, she couldn't see. Not that it concerned Harry too much, for she looked just as perplexed as he felt.

"Oh, honestly," Persephone groaned. "You've clearly got a lot to learn from me. It's just a school law, okay?"

She sighed impatiently, at which Harry and Hermione just feigned understanding.

"It's true, you know," Tonks added.

Persephone continued her orders.

"Augustine, Tonks; I need you two to go looking for Faith. When you find her, alert me and follow her at a distance, but don't try anything yet!"

"Sure thing," Tonks replied.

"Which leaves you," Augustine said, clearly waiting for a response. Persephone smiled.

"I'm going to find Albus Dumbledore and assure him that myself and my young charge were scheduled to visit Hogwarts today- you will both need to address me as Natalina Korsivka, governess to the house of Branimir," she replied. They all nodded, at which Persephone motioned to them to pay attention to her wand.

"Also, if anybody gets into any difficulty, fire a flare charm into the air- specifically use 'Discrimen'. If anybody sees that flare, we all get there as quickly as possible, agreed?"

They all nodded in understanding, except Harry suddenly had a niggling thought.

"Persephone, won't Faith see me under my cloak?" Harry piped up, having remembered the rather disconcerting incident in Faith's workshop where she saw straight through his Invisibility Cloak.

Persephone shook her head.

"Doubt it, unless you saw her jump into that machine with a pair of specs on," she replied. Harry shook her head.

"She wore them for a bit, but I'm sure she took them off... What difference would that make, anyway?" he demanded.

"Well, she invented them- they can see through spells and incantations. If only I'd filched a pair for you, this whole debacle would never have happened- they can see through polyjuice disguises, too," Persephone explained.

"How can she come up with this stuff- her brain's completely addled?" Tonks exclaimed, ignoring the reproachful look Persephone gave her.

"The girl made a time machine after her time in Azkaban, I doubt something like a pair of magically enhanced glasses would cause her much difficulty," Persephone replied. "Anyway, is everyone happy with their responsibilities?"

Everyone nodded- except for Harry, who gave a vocal reply- before breaking off into their relevant groups to complete their tasks.

"Where do you think Snape as a teenager would hang out?" Harry asked. Hermione frowned.

"Not sure. I can't get into the Slytherin common room..."

"He was in Ravenclaw," Harry interrupted. Hermione looked shocked.

"Really?"

"According to my mum's diaries, and I can't think why she'd want to lie about it," he replied. Hermione nodded impatiently.

"Okay, but either way, I can't access any of the common-rooms. I don't know the passwords for 1977 and even if I did, why would Florence Branimir know them?" she explained.

"True, true," Harry conceded, trying to cast his mind back to what his mother had written about Snape in her diaries. He could only recall that he had cold hands, as well as a host of other things that Harry would have paid good money to ensure he never remembered again.

"What kind of student was he?" Hermione asked, which prompted Harry's memory into spitting out something useful.

"He was studious... we should try the library!" he exclaimed, in triumph. Hermione was already walking purposefully towards the building, her back straight, and her blood red robes swirling out behind her.

Hermione's aura of confidence was shattered as soon as they reached the library, though.

"Oh, God," she whispered, quietly.

"What? Have you seen him?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head.

"No, but what if he's in there?" she asked. Harry rolled his eyes, though Hermione didn't see the action as it was concealed under his invisibility cloak.

"Then you go and talk to him!"

"But I'm scared!"

"Why?"

"Because, he's a scary man!" Hermione almost whimpered. Harry touched her arm and tried not to laugh.

"He wasn't much of a scary boy," he soothed. Hermione whipped round to face him, or at least, where she thought he was, which turned out to be about forty seven degrees away from where he stood.

"How do you know?" she hissed. Harry squirmed a little in embarrassment.

"Well... during Occlumency last year, I kind of took a peek into his Pensieve, and saw a memory of his from during his O.W.L. exams..."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. Harry shrugged his shoulders defiantly at her, not that she saw, and continued with his point.

"Anyway, he was a bit of a loner, I think, and he was being picked on by..." Harry couldn't finish his sentence.

"By your dad and Sirius?" Hermione asked. Harry was so stunned; he couldn't speak for few moments.

"How did you know?" he asked, eventually. Hermione clicked her tongue.

"Well, it seems a little obvious, when you think about it- why else would Snape be so irrationally angry with them?"

"Look, is he in there or not?" Harry hissed back, unwilling to continue their conversation. Hermione crept to the door, and Harry pushed her in, which must have looked very odd to anyone who might have witnessed the event. She stumbled a little, brushed her hair out of her face and walked nonchalantly between the bookshelves. Harry followed her, glancing around to make sure he didn't walk into anybody, which wasn't too difficult, as there were very few people about. He assumed the fifth and seventh year students who would normally be taking up the entire library were probably having exams right at this very moment.

Suddenly, Hermione stopped, and positioned herself between one of the shelves, pretending to look for a book.

"Is that him?" she whispered, jerking her head in the direction of some study desks nearby. Harry turned to look and saw a boy sat at one of the desks, his greasy hair tied back in a plait, his posture hunched as he read of one many books he had arranged on the desk.

"Yep," Harry whispered back, "that's him."

Hermione blanched.

"What do I do? I can hardly just sit next to him and ask him about the weather!" she hissed.

Harry watched as the teenage Snape got up and walked towards them, stooping as though he were apologising for his height.

"No need," Harry replied, "he's coming this way."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed, albeit quietly, but it was too late for her to get any more concerned, for the boy had almost reached the area of the bookshelf Hermione was stood in front of.

"Excuse me," he said, brusquely, to Hermione, who smiled genially.

"Yes?" she asked. Snape's facial expression didn't change.

"I need to get to the shelf you're standing in front of," he replied. Hermione blushed, and consequently shifted herself out of the way of the bookshelf she was standing in front of.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Snape bent down to reach one of the books that was level with Hermione's knee. Hermione, much to Harry's chagrin, just stood there and looked at the floor, clearly unwilling to try and strike up a conversation with the surly boy.

Harry nudged Hermione's left knee, in the hope of rousing her into some sort of action. He partially succeeded, for he did rouse her into action. However, the action he roused her into involved her jumping a mile from shock, and smacking her right knee straight into Snape's nose, who winced in pain and put a hand to his face in response. Hermione put her hands to her mouth in horror, and knelt down beside him.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she exclaimed, flapping around him in concern. Snape gave her a disparaging look.

"It's all right, I'm sure I've got another nose somewhere," he replied, sardonically.

"Is it bleeding?" Hermione asked, to which Snape shook his head.

"It just feels twice the size, that's all," he replied. Hermione giggled anxiously.

"Oh, well, that's a relief," she said, quickly, "though twice that size must be a weight to carry..."

There was a moment of palpably exquisite discomfort between Hermione and Snape, Harry noticed, where the one realised what they had said, and the other realised what had been said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from!" Hermione beseeched, in what Harry thought was a poor attempt at back-pedalling. Snape seemed to agree, as he merely rolled his eyes and turned to leave their company. Harry groaned silently at Hermione's nervousness, for it really wasn't helping matters in the slightest, and nudged her again into attempting to repair the damage.

"Please, I'm very sorry, I'm just nervous being here," Hermione flustered, grabbing Snape's arm gently to stop him from walking away. Harry thought he was going to pull angrily away from her, but instead he turned around and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Well, you've managed to almost break my nose, and certainly dent my pride, in the space of five minutes, let's see what damage you can do next?"

Hermione turned red and looked at the floor, at which Snape smiled cynically and picked up a book from the shelf nearest him. Hermione noticed the cover and looked interested.

"Oh, 'The Curse of Ministry Regulation'?" she enthused, reading the title of the book out loud. Snape looked at her.

"You've read it?" he asked, clearly unconvinced. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, last year actually- the history of curse and jinx regulation throughout the past three centuries..."

"What did you think of it?" Snape asked, in a tone that smacked of testing Hermione's knowledge.

"Actually, I thought it incredibly biased and definitely in favour of self-preservation and possibly the Dark Arts," she replied, disapprovingly. Snape said nothing, and just continued to look at her. Hermione began to look increasingly uncomfortable under his stern gaze.

"Oh dear, now you're going to tell me your father wrote it, or something..."

"Actually, it was my great-grandfather," Snape replied, putting the book under his arm. "Though I agree wholeheartedly with you."

Hermione exhaled in relief, which caused a definite smile to tug at Snape's lips.

"It's a conversation, you know, not an exam," he replied, a little more gently. Hermione looked up at him.

"You're just like..." She faltered a little, and Harry saw with a groan that she was very close to saying he was just the same as he is twenty years into the future.

"You're just like one of my professors at Durmstrang. You make me feel quite nervous. Plus, you're tall," she added, conversationally.

She recovered well, Harry thought, as he saw Snape smile once again.

"It'll be the shoes," he joked, pointing at the platform heel boots he was wearing. "They're all the rage in wizarding Great Britain now; you can see they've even raised the shelves in the library to accommodate for the sudden five inches of height every student here has acquired by wearing them," he added mischievously. Hermione laughed, at which he raised his palms in mock defence.

"You laugh now, but just wait, you'll get them in Durmstrang soon enough, and then you'll need step ladders to reach the books on the lowest shelf," he teased.

Suddenly, he looked a little perturbed.

"I'm sorry, in all the pain, I forgot to introduce myself; I'm Severus," he explained, and held out his hand. Hermione shook it.

"I'm H... Florence, it is nice to meet you," she replied, quickly. Snape smiled.

"And you're from Durmstrang," he added. Hermione looked a little surprised.

"How... oh," she giggled, before continuing. "The robes are distinctive, yes?"

Snape looked her up and down, surveying the robes.

"Well, red and furry isn't the specified uniform here at Hogwarts," he replied. "Although, the fact you said I reminded you of your professor at Durmstrang gave it away."

Hermione blushed crimson.

"Oh yes, so it would," she replied. Snape grinned at her.

"I just pick up on these subtle hints," he teased. He looked briefly at the floor, then the wall, before meeting her eyes again.

"So, what brings you here, anyway?" he asked. Hermione smiled in what Harry could tell was palpable relief at knowing exactly what she was going to say.

"My governess seems to think that, what with things being how they are over Europe because of V..." She quickly corrected herself, before saying, "You-Know-Who and everything, it might be, erm, prudent, for me to move to a school less... active in teaching the Dark Arts."

"Sounds daft to me- if anything, nowadays you'd want to know more," Snape replied. Hermione shrugged.

"Well, your opinion is evidently not shared by my governess," she replied, acerbically, which caused Snape to laugh.

"Oh, you poor little rich girl," he mocked. His expression suddenly darkened.

"I didn't think Hogwarts accommodated transfer students," he remarked. Hermione smiled weakly.

"I did not know one way or the other- it is possible that my governess has pulled a few strings," she replied. Snape nodded approvingly.

"True," he replied.

There were a few moments of mildly uncomfortable silence, which were then broken by Snape.

"So, what do you think of Hogwarts, then?" he asked. Hermione shrugged.

"I have seen very little of it, so far. My governess is currently speaking to the headmaster, I believe, and has simply told me to go and look around. I'm afraid I don't know where to begin," she said, pointedly, and Harry inwardly cheered her move to get Snape to stay by her side.

The boy in question looked straight at her.

"Well, I'm not doing much, I could show you around, if you'd like," he offered. Hermione beamed.

"That would be lovely," she replied, enthusiastically.

"And, if you do end up being taught here with our lack of curricular Dark Arts, I could always show you a thing or two in the art of self-tutoring," he added, with a raised eyebrow that suggested he was involved in something altogether not above board. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him in response.

"You do move quickly, Severus," she replied, coquettishly. Snape looked a little bashful.

"I meant I have some books that might be of use," he replied. Hermione looked embarrassed only briefly, for she soon gave him a teasing smile.

"That's a pity," she replied, "for I think I might be rather interested in exactly what you could teach me here."

"You brazen hussy!" Harry thought with a broad smile, as he saw Snape turn the colour of Hermione's robes and gestured for her to link her arm with his.

"I've got all day, you know, so whatever you want to see, just ask," he said.

Harry couldn't believe it- oh to be a girl! With less than twenty words, Hermione had guaranteed that Snape would not leave her side for the entire afternoon. He was impressed, until he was struck with the grim realisation that he himself would be in danger of such subterfuge from the entire female sex until the day he died.

Then something happened that completely took his mind off such vulnerabilities. He spotted his own father and Sirius loitering in the doorway of the library, having recognised them from when he saw them in Snape's Pensieve last year. They were a year older now, but that made little difference to either their looks, or his dad's wayward hair, that he appeared to be desperately trying to flatten down by spitting on his hand and pressing it against his head. It did little good, for it still stuck up at the back.

"She isn't here, let's go..."

"Sirius, you haven't even gone in!"

"You're the one who fancies the Evans girl, James, not me. Anyway, this place gives me the creeps!"

"Why, is it all the books with small print in them?"

"Nah, it's all the weirdoes reading them on a day like this... Ooh, hang about."

Harry heard Sirius' ranting stop, then suddenly realised why. He was staring in their direction, and for a moment thought he had spotted Snape, but then noticed that he couldn't possibly have, for the way the bookshelves were arranged, Snape would have been obscured from view.

Hermione, however, wouldn't have been, and Harry soon cottoned on to the fact that it was her who had distracted Sirius.

"Check out the Slavic beauty. Hang on, mate," Sirius said, clapping James on the back, who stood in the doorway of the library, looking stunned.

"Sirius..."

"What? I like foreign girls!" he protested, before casually making his way over to where Hermione was stood talking to Snape.

"You've never met any foreign girls!" James shouted back, and was soon met with a barrage of 'shush' noises from the students nearby who were trying to work.

"Hello, there," Sirius drawled, leaning one arm casually against the bookshelf and ran his fingers through his irritatingly well-behaved hair. Harry had to admit he did look very handsome, if somewhat cocky.

Hermione turned to look at him, and Harry saw a gleam of fleeting recognition in her eyes.

"Hello," she replied, courteously, before turning back to her discussion with Snape. It was at this point the two boys saw each other, and Harry suddenly felt the temperature drop by about five degrees.

"Snape."

"Black."

The acknowledgements were almost a battle cry, for the two had instantly whipped out their wands and were about to fight right there and then. Harry backed quietly into a bookcase in order to avoid getting discovered in the resulting struggle, and he saw Hermione back into Snape and grip his arm tightly.

"What is going on?" she demanded, hotly.

"Personal feud," Snape replied, shortly. Sirius smiled at Hermione.

"Yeah, nothing for you to worry about. What's your name?" he asked, that charming smile still plastered to his face. Snape looked furious.

"Florence," Hermione replied, affably. Sirius held her hand in his, but did not shake it.

"What a lovely name," he replied. "I'm Sirius. I see from your attire you're not from Hogwarts?"

Snape rolled his eyes in contempt, but Hermione remained polite and innocent of Sirius' attention.

"No, I am from Durmstrang," she replied. Sirius smiled.

"Wow, you must be quite warm in those heavy robes, isn't it uncomfortable? I could always help you with them," he offered, wiggling his eyebrows. Hermione shook his head.

"No, I am quite alright. I am using a cooling charm," she replied, and Harry saw that every muscle in Snape's face had been given over to inhibiting his laughter. Sirius, however, looked a little bemused, but undaunted.

"Listen, anyway, I was just in the area and wondered if perhaps you might need a friendly guide to show you around our hallowed seat of learning," he said, gesturing for her to take his arm. Hermione smiled.

"Thank you, Sirius, but Severus has already kindly offered to do the very same thing," she replied, looking up at Snape warmly, who suddenly appeared to have straightened his back, and looked two inches taller for it. Sirius' expression did not falter.

"That's nice," he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "You can still come with me though- it's not like you've made a promise you're honour-bound to keep. It's entirely up to you."

"Perhaps," Snape said, pointedly, "Florence is perfectly happy with my offer?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I am," she agreed. Sirius' eyes narrowed a little, though his smile remained intact.

"I was merely suggesting, Florence, that perhaps I might be able to show you more than Snape here could," he added. Though he said these words to Hermione, Harry noticed he was glaring at Snape as he did so, who bristled visibly.

"Want to put money on that, Black?" he sneered, with malice in his voice.

"Oh, please, I could show Florence here things you'd never even heard of!" Sirius boasted.

"I could show her things you've never even dreamt of," Snape countered.

Hermione, Harry could see, wasn't sure whether she should be trying not to laugh or not to be sick, and he couldn't blame her, for the sight of Harry's late godfather and their Potions professor puffing up their chests over her as though she were a particularly attractive Zebra finch was quite ludicrous. Eventually she interjected herself between the two boys, who were clearly squaring up for a proper fight.

"Please, please, there is no need to fight. Thank you very much for your offer, Sirius, but I am going with Severus," she said, kindly, but firmly. Sirius shrugged.

"Fair enough- your loss, though," he replied, before walking off in the direction of James, who Harry noticed had been watching the whole affair from a distance, and looked equally amused and embarrassed. From the look on Sirius' face, he was quite bewildered.

"What just happened?" Sirius asked. James looked at him.

"Leave it, Sirius, she wasn't interested," he replied. Sirius' expression darkened.

"No, I can't just leave it- why in Merlin's name did she turn me down for him?"

James shrugged.

"Haven't a clue- you didn't happen to see Lily, did you?"

Sirius sighed.

"No, I didn't- why him?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes! It's not really that she didn't pick me; it's the fact that she picked him over me. It's the principle of the matter!" Sirius replied, clearly outraged. James sighed heavily.

"What principle?"

Sirius faltered, obviously trying to think of an adequate explanation.

"The principle of... the principle of me being superior to Snivellus!"

James rolled his eyes.

"Right. Can we please go and find Lily now?"

"Okay, okay..."

The two walked through the doorway and out of the library, but not before Harry distinctly heard Sirius complain, "I don't know what she sees in him!"

Hermione linked her arm with Snape's and smiled.

"Right, so where shall we start first?" she asked. Snape smiled.

"Well, seeing as you have now seen the library, perhaps the Great Hall might be a good idea- the ceiling is enchanted to reflect the sky outside, you know..."

He continued on in this vain, Hermione smiling and nodding in all the right places at a commentary that might have been fascinating if you hadn't spent almost six years studying in the place he was describing. She leant over her shoulder and mouthed the words, "Like peacocks!" to Harry, referring to Sirius and Snape, and it was all Harry could do to prevent himself from doubling up in laughter whilst following the pair out of the library. There really was nothing like the foreign girl to ensure mass flirtation and squabbling between any males over the age of fourteen, and he really did have a lot to learn from his sister, Harry thought with a smile.

Hermione and Snape had not walked very far down the corridor- indeed; Snape had only just finished describing the four Hogwarts houses- before they met with yet another distraction. This one caused Harry to ball his fists up in anger, though, and even Hermione blanched a little, though she clearly fought to keep her composure.

It was Bellatrix Black. Much younger, rounder and prettier than she had looked when she emerged from Azkaban, it was true, but it was her none the less. And she made a beeline for Snape.

"Severus, darling!" she exclaimed, kissing him lightly on both cheeks. Snape smiled at her amiably.

"Hi, Bella," he replied. She smiled, and suddenly noticed Hermione stood next to him, at which she raised her eyebrows.

"And who is this?" she asked, looking Hermione straight in the eye.

"I'm Florence," Hermione replied, as nicely as she could. Bellatrix smiled at her and shook her hand.

"Hi, I'm Bellatrix," she replied, "but my friends call me Bella, and a friend of Severus' is a friend of mine, so..."

"Hello, Bella," Hermione said, at which Bellatrix laughed.

"I presume Severus has been boring you to tears about the history of Hogwarts," she teased, nudging Snape, whose eyes widened.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bella," he replied, sarcastically. Hermione giggled- something Harry had rarely seen her do in all their years as friends.

"Oh, no at all- Severus is a fascinating orator," she replied, smiling at Snape. Harry had to hand it to her- she was good at this subterfuge malarkey.

Bellatrix smiled again, before turning her attention back to Snape.

"Severus," she coaxed, "I do have a favour to ask you..."

"What is it?" Snape asked, clearly feigning irritation. Bellatrix held her hands behind her back and twisted her foot from side to side as though she were putting out an imaginary cigarette stub, all the while smiling at Snape in a way that Harry could only interpret as a coquettish one.

"Well, my sister Narcissa is getting married next weekend, and I've got to be bridesmaid- frightfully dull business. Anyway, I was wondering if you'd be my escort for the evening?"

Snape eyed her suspiciously.

"What about Rodolphus?" he asked. "He is rather taken with you..."

Bellatrix giggled, and waved her hand to one side.

"Well, yes," she replied, as though it were an obvious conclusion to draw.

"And you like him."

Bellatrix blushed, and nudged Snape sharply in the ribs again.

"Yes, that's also true," she replied, grudgingly.

"So..."

"So, that's exactly why I mustn't ask him!" Bellatrix exclaimed. Snape looked completely confused, and Harry had to admit he didn't understand either. Bellatrix looked up to the ceiling and sighed heavily.

"Well, if I ask him, he'll know I like him, and so he won't make an effort, and I do so want him to make an effort. If I take you, he'll be very jealous, and appreciate me all the more," she explained patiently, as though Snape was a four-year-old child who had drawn a mural on the living-room wall in wax crayon, and she was the mother attempting to explain why it was a bad thing to do.

"Fine," Snape sighed, evidently still bemused. "But why exactly would he be jealous of me?"

"Because, darling, you happen to be much better at Potions and Dark Arts stuff than him, and he'll see you as a genuine threat to his manhood, on which I can capitalise."

Snape laughed and shook his head.

"You turn dating into a game of chess," he replied. Bellatrix smiled knowingly at him.

"You say that as though it's any less strategic," she giggled. Snape shook his head in a mixture of disdain and amusement.

"She's in Slytherin house, in case you hadn't guessed," he said to Hermione.

"Are you?" she asked Snape, who shook his head.

"I'm in Ravenclaw," he replied, at which Bellatrix laughed richly.

"Oh, yes, he's a very clever boy," she drawled, "but we've taken him under our wing. I suppose you could call him a Slytherin refugee," she replied, giggling at her own joke.

Hermione nodded in understanding.

"So, you are friends in different houses?" she asked. Bellatrix nodded.

"That's right- I know there are lots of stories about our four houses not getting on, but we're living proof of how wrong those stories can be," she replied, before turning her attention back to Snape.

"So, will you take me? To the wedding?" she asked, coyly, holding Snape's hands in her own, though at arms length. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Yes, fine, I'll go with you," he sighed, as though it were a heavy burden. Bellatrix beamed and brought his hands close to her face.

"Thank you," she replied, in a mocking manner, before kissing him on the knuckles of his right hand and turning to leave.

"Bye, Severus, bye, Florence, nice to meet you!" she said before she left.

"Likewise," Hermione called after her, but the girl did not turn around, which was perhaps just as well, for despite her kind words, Hermione appeared simply horrified by Bellatrix's appearance.

Snape looked exhausted, and offered Hermione a nervous smile.

"Sorry about that," he said, to which Hermione smiled.

"Not a problem," she replied, "she seemed... nice."

Snape laughed darkly.

"She is, but she's just a bit... flighty. She has this thing where she feels compelled to flirt with all of her male friends until they all fancy her like mad. I, so far, have yet to succumb."

"Do you think you ever will?" Hermione asked, grinning cheekily. Snape looked at her as though he were contemplating her words.

"I'm thinking I might. Anything for a quiet life," he replied, in jest.

"So, do you like it here?" Hermione asked, changing the subject. Snape looked astounded for a moment.

"Here? You mean Hogwarts?" he asked. Hermione nodded.

"Yes," she confirmed. Snape appeared uneasy.

"I'm perhaps the wrong person to ask if you're interested in how happy you might be at Hogwarts," he replied, finally. Hermione's brow furrowed.

"You do not like it here?" she probed. Snape sighed heavily.

"Let's just say I hope the old adage isn't true."

"What's that?"

"That your schooldays are the best days of your life," he replied, swiftly. Hermione's expression softened at his words, to the point of appearing a little sorrowful. Unfortunately, Snape noticed.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her in concern. Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine, just a little... I'm fine," she said, nervously. Snape shrugged.

"If you say so..."

"I do," Hermione reiterated, and flashed him a smile. "So, I don't suppose you would be able to show me the Ravenclaw Common Room? I imagine one common-room is much the same as another, and it would give me a good idea as to how the students here are treated," she said, changing the subject.

"Of course, yes, that does make sense," he replied.

Hermione looked apologetically at Snape.

"I am sorry to keep you cooped up in the main building on a lovely day like this..."

"Not a problem," Snape replied, swiftly.

Hermione looked up and down the corridor.

"So, which way do we go?" she asked. Snape pointed towards Ravenclaw tower.

"That way," he replied, gesturing for her to follow him, and she did.

"I don't suppose you would show me the Great Hall afterwards? That sounds fascinating," she said, amiably, until both she and Snape were too far away for Harry to hear their conversation. On picking up Hermione's rather obvious hints of where they were going to spend that afternoon, he ran as fast as he could out onto the school grounds to find either Augustine, Tonks or Persephone.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: ...And Then A Step to the Right

It took Harry a while to find the remaining members of the rescue mission; when he did, he spotted Augustine and Persephone crouched behind some bushes, watching something with peculiar interest.

"Hi, I'm back," Harry announced, at which they both jumped.

"Oh, Harry, it's you. You frightened the death out of me!" Augustine exclaimed.

"Do you bring good tidings?" Persephone asked, scrambling a little out of her hiding place beneath the bushes to look at the area she clearly presumed he was standing.

"Yep- Hermione's got Snape showing her around the inside of the castle, so if you can keep Faith outside, that ought to do it," he said. Persephone grinned.

"See, I told you it'd work!" she remonstrated.

"Yeah, she was good," Harry remarked. "A little too good actually..."

He trailed off, presuming now was not the best time to confide in his half-sister about his confusion over the many mysteries of girls.

It was about this time that he noticed Persephone and Augustine were watching the grass in front of them as though they were enthusiastic bird-watchers hoping to spot some rare species.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sceptically.

"Testing out Tonks," Persephone replied, without taking her eyes off the greenery in front of her. Harry looked where Persephone was looking and saw a lanky dark haired boy sitting about six feet away on the grass.

"No, that's not quite right, either," Persephone said in a stage whisper, miming with her hands. Tonks shrugged her shoulders theatrically. Persephone frowned.

"Bigger nose, bigger!" she stage whispered back, pulling at her nose with her right hand. Tonks screwed up her face and Harry watched the boy's nose get bigger and bigger, until Persephone put up her hand, and Tonks stopped.

"It's more hooked than that," Augustine commented. Persephone attempted to mime this to Tonks by pointing at her nose, then drawing an exaggerated bend in mid-air with the same finger. Eventually, Tonks cottoned on to the appalling mime, and screwed up her face once more until she achieved the desired effect, at which she stood up.

"Taller, taller!" Persephone whispered, putting her hands together then moving them apart to demonstrate an increase in size. Tonks' eyes widened, and her expression was rather nonplussed. She pointed to her crotch and raised an eyebrow. Persephone shook her head wildly.

"No, no, no- taller!" she hissed, emphasising the word 'taller' with exaggerated mouth movements, whilst pointing at the sky. Tonks appeared to have clicked, and screwed up her face whilst she began to steadily increase in height. Persephone motioned for her to stop when she reached the required height, and she did so.

Harry was stunned. Tonks really did make a convincing looking teenage Snape. In fact, it was quite disconcerting to look at. Persephone mimed a 'thumbs-up' gesture at her.

"Perfect!" she whispered.

"Erm, why are you whispering?" Harry asked. "Even if the students hanging around can't hear you, they'll certainly notice Tonks changing her appearance over there."

"We've used a partial concealment charm on the area," Persephone explained. "We needed to see that Tonks looked exactly how she should- she had no idea, what with being only two or three when Severus was seventeen. However, we had to trade-off as far as a concealment spell went, as we daren't use anything too complicated outside of our own time- it could prove disastrous. Consequently, we can be overheard, if not seen, hence the miming, and me wishing that charades had been a more popular Christmas game in our home."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"Right, I think we're about ready to remove the charm and let Tonks do her work," Persephone announced. She muttered a charm, and Harry felt a sudden rush of warmth spread through the air. Tonks sat on the grass underneath a tree and began to read a book, and was generally unnoticed by the passing students.

"Come on, Faith," Persephone whispered under her breath.

Harry looked around to see if he could see the girl, but she was nowhere about. However, he became dimly aware of recognisable voices that were steadily increasing in volume. Looking across at where the voices were coming from, Harry recognised the forms of his father and Sirius, who were accompanied by two others- one was gaunt with brown hair, the other was shorter with mousy hair. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat as he recognised them as Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, respectively.

"...Oh, he's off again- for God's sake, Sirius, just give it a rest, will you?" James sighed.

"James! Just because you had a successful conversation with Lily Evans doesn't give you the right to lord it over us less fortunate in the battle field of love!" Sirius remonstrated.

"Battle field of love? That's a bit of a melodramatic description, for trying to flirt with the foreign girl," Lupin remarked, casually, at which James and Peter laughed out loud. Sirius remained unimpressed.

"Just hear me out, Remus. It was a choice, right, between him and me, and she picked him! I just don't get it? Why Snivellus, of all people? Was it mystic sorcery hitherto unknown by us?" he asked, clearly utterly bemused by what had taken place in the library.

"Perhaps it was because the first impression she got of you was you sticking your wand in the face of a bloke she had been chatting to for, well, however long she'd been chatting to him?" Peter offered, amiably. Sirius swatted him on the arm.

"Yeah, thanks, Peter- were you there when it happened? How do you know if I came across more like a rabid psychopath than a suave sophisticate?"

"Probably because you've related the story to us that many times already, we feel as though we were there ourselves," Lupin pointed out.

"Plus, James has filled us in on any, ahem, inaccuracies," Peter added, with an impish smile.

Suddenly, Sirius stopped.

"Look," he whispered, "there's the greasy git himself!"

He rolled up his sleeves.

"Right, I'm going to do for him, no mistaking- I'll teach him," he announced, striding off towards the tree where Tonks was sat. Lupin grabbed his arm.

"Sirius, can't you just leave it?"

"No!"

"Not even after what happened the last time you planned to 'teach him'?" Lupin looked a little pale. Sirius stared at him in defiance, which soon gave way to an expression of awful realisation.

"Remus, I'm... I'm sorry," he stammered, but Lupin just shook his head and backed away, before turning on his heel and running off.

"Oi, Remus! I'm sorry!" Sirius shouted after him, but to no avail. He kicked a stone in anger and ran both his hands through his hair.

"Merlin, I'm an idiot," he seethed.

"Nobody's arguing with you here," James said, though with a little softness in his voice.

Having eagerly watched their entire conversation, Harry became rather concerned when he saw the path that they were taking. They were going to walk right towards Tonks disguised as Snape. Persephone had also noticed this.

"Oh, nadgers!" she exclaimed. "We need to get those kids out of there! Augustine?" she tapped Augustine on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Keep an eye on the situation, I'm going to attempt to remove them," she replied, ducking quickly behind a tree, adjusting her cloak and then walking purposefully out towards James, Sirius and Peter.

Harry watched as she tapped his father on the shoulder, who whirled around in bewilderment.

"Excuse me, young gentlemen?" Persephone asked, in what Harry thought was an astonishingly accurate Slavic accent.

"Yes?" James and Sirius replied, simultaneously.

"Haff you seen a young girl, about so high?" Here, Persephone gestured with her hand to a point just below her shoulder, which Harry recognised as being around the same height as Hermione.

"Brown hair, big hair?" she continued, miming what looked to Harry like a goldfish bowl around her head.

"Red robes, no?" she offered. At this statement, Peter tugged on Sirius' sleeve.

"That sounds like Florence," he said.

"Yeah," Sirius answered, "we saw that girl in the library a while ago."

Persephone clapped her hands.

"Excellent. I am sure she vill still be there, she loffs books ever so much. I shall just go and..." She began to fiddle in the pockets of her robes, giving the impression of looking for something, when finally she clapped a hand to her forehead.

"Oh, stupid me, I haff forgotten my pass key, so I cannot get into the building. If I tried to, I think that I vill explode or something... your Deputy-Head was rather cryptic about it. I don't suppose you boys could go and get it for me? I left it in the Great Hall, I think," she asked. Sirius and James looked at each other, and shrugged.

"Sure," they replied, though not exactly in chorus.

"Thank you ever so much, I shall vait here, in case I go and lose myself as vell." She laughed at this heartily, though Sirius and James looked confused.

"Thank you, boys," she finished, as they walked off towards the Great Hall, Sirius muttering under his breath, "I don't know what she sees in him, that Florence girl!"

Persephone, on the other hand, had wiped her brow with a look of relief on her face.

Harry realised that at least the appearance of the infamous marauders had explained away one mystery for him. Sirius Black's letter to Hermione from the reading had said 'I don't know what you saw in him!' Clearly it was meant for 'Florence' instead, and Harry made a mental note to tell Hermione of this as soon as he got an opportunity. He sighed- of all the things to think about just before you die!

The whole affair soon mattered nought to Harry, for he saw out of the corner of his eye, a small blonde girl with pigtails and a bright gleam in her eyes run towards Persephone.

"You thought that Metamorphagus would fool me? Not a chance, and I will find him, and I'll stop all the pain- don't try to stop me!"

"Faith, please, don't do this, you'll change everything!" Persephone pleaded.

"Well, yeah, that's the plan," she spat, sarcastically.

"She means you'll change everything else, too. The Brethren itself, for starters, and the death toll will increase if you change his position in the war," Augustine added, walking carefully towards Faith, who soon realised she was surrounded.

"We don't want to hurt you," Persephone reasoned. Faith laughed.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you won't," she retorted. Persephone sighed.

"You know me too well, eh?" she said, with a wry smile. Faith glared at her.

"I thought I did," she seethed.

Persephone appeared wounded by Faith's words, but their discussion was ended abruptly by an odd banging noise in the distance.

"What was that?" Tonks asked, having shaken off her Snape disguise and now resembling the same unremarkable blonde fifth-year Hogwarts student she had in Flourish and Blotts back in August. Persephone narrowed her eyes.

"It sounds familiar..." She trailed off, as a bright green light was visible in the distance. Augustine looked shocked.

"No... even they wouldn't attack a school... would they?" he asked, hollowly. Harry shook his head, though nobody saw him do so under his Invisibility Cloak, so he decided to speak up instead.

"Hagrid always said that the Death Eaters never dared to attack the school, because of Dumbledore!" he said. Persephone grimaced.

"Well, Albus isn't here," she replied. "When I went to find him, Professor McGonagall was there, I had to convince her I had arranged an appointment with him, and she's not the most trusting of women."

"So that's why it took you so long," Tonks commented, before pointing up at the sky. A green skull was clearly visible there a distance away.

"Can't we stop them?" Harry pleaded. Persephone shook her head.

"We can't meddle with time. We've no idea what'll happen," she said, quietly.

"Well, what do we do, then?" Harry asked, impatiently. Persephone exhaled sharply.

"Well, I suggest we go and get bladdered, 'cause I'm all out of ideas," she replied, tartly.

"They must be just outside the grounds," Tonks said, in an empty voice. Augustine was stroking his chin with his right hand.

"I remember Alex mentioning the students being really scared of seeing that mark over there," he mused. Persephone turned towards him on hearing this.

"She went to Beaubaxtons," she said, sharply. Augustine smiled.

"She had a pen-pal that was in his second year here in 1977... Bill, I think his name was..."

Persephone grabbed him by the front of his lapels.

"Holy Minister on a see-saw, why didn't you tell me this sooner!" she cried. Augustine politely removed her hands from his chest and brushed himself down, all the while giving her a querulous look.

"Careful with the lapels, please, Persephone, it does take a long time to starch them properly," she cautioned. Persephone looked apologetically at him.

"Sorry," she said, "but this is rather urgent!"

"What have you got in mind?" Tonks asked, shooting Persephone a wry glance.

"I'm thinking that if Voldemort has never attacked this school, and the only time he did was when Albus wasn't around, then something must have happened that scared him enough to prevent him sending his forces out here again. Albus can't have been here twenty-four hours of every day, especially with the Order," she mused. Tonks grinned and nodded in realisation.

"What?" Harry asked impatiently. "What happened that ensured they never attacked?"

"Us," Tonks replied, swiftly. Persephone gave her a lop-sided grin.

"I think you may be right," she added.

Harry glanced across at Faith, who was standing rigid, staring up at the skull that glowed eerily in the bright blue sky. She had balled her hands into tight fists and looked furious.

"Bastards," she hissed, through clenched teeth. Persephone shot her a brief look.

"Faith? Want to come and kill some Death Eaters?" she asked, though without looking at Faith.

"Sure, but I still don't like you anymore," Faith retorted, not looking at Persephone once, before following Tonks as she walked towards the edge of the school grounds. Persephone sighed, and Augustine put a hand on her shoulder.

"Just give her time," he whispered, before following Tonks and Faith. Persephone nodded, then turned around.

"Harry?" she called. Harry tugged her sleeve.

"I'm here," he replied.

"Can you go and find Hermione? Let her know what's happened?"

"Sure," Harry replied. "Where shall I meet you?"

Persephone's eyes narrowed.

"Back in the school. You are not, under any circumstances, to come out to where we are, do you hear me?"

Harry nodded sulkily, then on seeing Persephone still waiting for a reply, quickly said, "Yes, I hear you."

Persephone smiled.

"Good lad. See you soon," she said, before following Augustine, Faith and Tonks.

Harry ran through the Hogwarts building, but Hermione was nowhere to be found. He shuddered at the thought that she and Snape might be hanging around in the Ravenclaw common room. Briefly wondering if it would be worth trying to guess the password, he decided against it, and instead ran along the corridor to check the Great Hall one more time.

He ground to a half as he saw a small group of girls giggling and chatting walking towards him, and sighed with relief when he didn't collide straight into them.

One of the girls suddenly stopped.

"Did you hear something?" she asked, looking around. Harry froze in dread as the other two looked around.

"I didn't hear anything, Tessa," a small, mousy-haired girl replied.

"It was probably just the wind," a girl with dark red hair added, looking behind her to make sure. Her eyes met Harry's, though she couldn't see, and Harry felt his heart hammer against his breastbone.

It was his mother at seventeen. What was all the more shocking was that it was his mother at seventeen, who had given birth to his sister two years ago, and nobody knew.

"Ooh, what did James have to say for himself, Lily?" the mousy-haired girl asked. Lily sighed heavily.

"He asked me out." She rolled her eyes. "Again."

Tessa and the mousy-haired girl stared at her, gobsmacked.

"What did you say?" Tessa practically squealed. Lily sighed.

"I said I'd think about it."

The mousy-haired girl swatted her on the arm.

"You nit-wit! You told James Potter, Gryffindor Quidditch Chaser, that you'd think about it?"

"Well, he has been a lot nicer this year, but I still don't know- he's just so horrible sometimes!"

Tessa wrinkled her nose.

"To whom? I can only think of that weird Ravenclaw boy, Severus Snape..."

"Isn't that enough?" Lily asked. Tessa shrugged.

"I suppose it is a little mean... but Lily, you know he really is scary. Diana had potions classes with him in fourth year, and she told me once, when they were dissecting their frogs' bladders, he was skinning his frogs and sneaking the skins into his bag! Come on, Lily, that isn't normal behaviour," she reasoned. Lily blanched a little.

"Well, maybe not," she agreed, "but that still doesn't make it okay to just... humiliate him. In front of all the school!"

Tessa looked at the floor.

"S'pose not," she replied. The mousy-haired girl looked deep in thought.

"Severus Snape?" she asked. Tessa rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on, Sylvia! You must know who he is! Lanky bloke, black greasy hair, big nose, rarely blinks, was Lily's dance partner for that competition in our fourth year..."

Sylvia clicked her fingers.

"Oh, him!" she said, in realisation, before she started giggling.

"What is it?" Tessa asked.

"Do you remember a couple of years ago, when little Penny Bancroft developed a crush on him?"

"Aww, the third year Hufflepuff Seeker?"

"Yeah, well, she was in the first year then. She kept following him around in the library, sending him really bad poetry... He was so horrible to her! Here, Lily, you're complaining about what James and Sirius did to him last year. Do you know what he did to this poor little girl?"

Lily raised her eyebrows in interest.

"What?" she asked. Sylvia raised her eyebrows in a gesture of disapproval.

"He hexed her with a bubblegum charm- she was covered in this pink goo all day, and kept sticking to every surface she touched. The teachers had a terrible job getting her out of it- the poor girl was in tears. I think the little china kitten she had charmed to meow a little love poem at dinnertime had been the straw that broke the dromedary, if you get my drift. He got into dreadful trouble for it- Dumbledore was furious..."

Lily looked outraged.

"Oh, so that's what he got into trouble for!" she exclaimed. Tessa and Sylvia looked bewildered.

"What do you mean?" Tessa asked.

"The dance thing. He said he was only partnering me because Dumbledore had asked him to, as he'd got into trouble... Ooh, how mean!" Lily seethed. Tessa looked at her.

"Yeah, but it was a meowing china kitten. I think I'm on Severus' side with this one..."

"Oh, don't say that to Lily, now she'll have another excuse to defend him- anyone would think you were the one with a crush on him," Sylvia teased. Lily looked askance at her.

"Don't be daft," she exclaimed.

"Ooh, who's got a crush on who?" a burly blonde girl coming down the corridor asked, eagerly. Lily rolled her eyes and smiled.

"Nobody's got a crush on anyone, Bertha," she replied.

"We were just teasing Lily about Severus Snape. She's far too nice- you know she's still standing up for him, even after what he called her last year..."

"I think he was just angry..."

"That's no excuse," Bertha interrupted, haughtily. "Now, if I'd have been Head Girl, I'd have sorted him out. You know, thanks to my illness last year, I thought I might get a second bite of the cherry this year; perhaps get to be Head Girl this time around instead. Oh well," she sighed. Then, her eyes gleamed and she glanced surreptitiously around the corridor.

"Here, speaking of Severus Snape!" she gestured for the three to come closer to her, which they did. "You'll never guess what I just saw."

"What?" Tessa asked eagerly. Bertha smiled.

"Well, you know I don't like to repeat gossip..."

The three girls sniggered at this, until Bertha looked at them commandingly, at which they quietened down.

"Like I was saying, I don't like to repeat gossip, so listen carefully. Just five minutes ago, I saw that Snape boy, and guess who he was strolling arm-in-arm with?"

Sylvia's eyes widened to almost twice the size.

"Oh, do tell!" she begged. Bertha looked around once more, and whispered, but loudly enough for Harry to hear her words.

"He was with that Durmstrang girl, Florence Branimir!"

Tessa, Sylvia and Lily looked at each other, clearly nonplussed.

"Florence Branimir?" Tessa asked. Bertha rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honestly! Dumbledore apparently organised for this girl's governess to show Florence around Hogwarts. What with the war and everything, apparently the woman doesn't like the idea of her darling ward studying at Durmstrang anymore- and you do know what kind of reputation that place has- Dark Arts and Death Eaters all the way! In fact, I reckon Severus would fit right in there. Well, she seemed very attentive, if you get my drift. Anyway." She looked out of the window next to Tessa's head. "If I run, I might be able to see where they've gone. I'll see you later," she said, giving them a cheery wave as she made her way along the corridor.

Tessa and Sylvia giggled loudly.

"Ooh, Severus has got a girlfriend," Sylvia said, in a lilting singsong voice.

"I hope she doesn't try and touch his hair, it's so greasy, she won't be able to turn any doorknobs until she washes her hands," Tessa sniggered, evilly.

Harry noticed that his mother had remained oddly quiet about the whole affair, but realised if he wanted Hermione to remain in one piece, he needed to get outside and find her before she walked straight into a bunch of Death Eaters. With this thought, he snuck past the three girls and took off back down the corridor, in the direction of the main exit.

He saw Hermione and Snape walking towards the edge of the school grounds, and knew he had to act fast. There was no way he could shout to get Hermione's attention without shocking at least half the school by the sound of his disembodied voice, so instead he decided to try and throw something at her. Not a rock or anything, but maybe a few pebbles. If he did it often enough, she might realise that he was trying to warn her of an imminent, and black-robed, danger not thirty feet in front of her. In the very distance, if Harry squinted, he could see there was a struggle going on between the black-robed figures and four characters that would've looked odd to anyone other than Harry and Hermione. A tall, skinny woman with a long black plait was duelling speedily with one of the Death Eaters, a small man dressed as though he had just stepped out of a Renaissance painting was being hit repeatedly with Stunning Spells, which did very little to stun him, unless one of the side-effects of stunning somebody meant that they could pick you up above their head and throw you against the nearest tree. Meanwhile, a young woman with short pink hair was chasing two Death Eaters away from the school, though they were firing bolts at her from their wands at lightening speed, which she kept dodging. Another small girl with pigtails was attacking another Death Eater with what appeared to be quite violent curses, though she felt the need to skip around her opponent as she did so.

Very soon, Harry realised that warning Hermione was not going to be a problem, as most of the students who were outside had now seen the Dark Mark in the sky, heard the booming and crackling sounds that indicated unfriendly wand fire, and were consequently running all over the place, screaming and knocking each other over in desperate attempt to either get away to safety, or else to see what was going on. Teachers were rushing around, demanding everyone return to the school building and remain in their common rooms until further notice. If she couldn't figure out what was happening from the pandemonium around her, Harry reckoned she couldn't have achieved the twelve O.W.L.s she got last year, either. As the havoc continued, it became nauseatingly clear to Harry which of the students had seen the Dark Mark before, and knew of the consequences, and those which hadn't, and didn't.

Snape had frozen, mid-walk, and was clutching Hermione's hand. He stared up at the sky, then turned to look at the sudden pallor of her features.

"Florence," he said, firmly, "run."

Hermione didn't need telling twice, especially when a bolt of red light coursed through the air in their direction. Snape grabbed her, and threw her roughly to the floor. Harry saw red, and nearly tore towards them to exact revenge upon Snape for doing such a thing to his friend; but the torn sleeve of Snape's robes, and the glowing green scar throbbing angrily in the exposed flesh made him stop.

"What did you do that for?" Hermione yelled, as she pulled herself up off the grass. Snape glared at her indignantly.

"Well, excuse me for saving your life," he huffed, angrily, before trying to walk away. The action was impeded by Hermione having grabbed hold of his arm, and he did in fact drag her a small way across the ground as he tried to pull away whilst she obstinately held on.

"Your arm," she pointed out, once she had got his attention. Snape futilely pulled the torn cloth of his sleeve over the green scar in an attempt to hide it.

"It's nothing," he muttered. Hermione looked at him.

"It's clearly not nothing, you should see Madam... your school healer- where's the hospital wing?" she asked, in that stern manner Harry knew only too well. Snape pulled his arm away from her hand, and glared at her.

"I've been there far too much this past month- I'm certainly not showing my face there again," he replied, through gritted teeth.

"Why, what happened?" Hermione asked, suddenly curious. Snape stared at her murderously.

"None of your business," he snapped, crossing his arms defensively. Hermione exhaled sharply.

"Well, at least let me look at it!" she demanded. Snape snickered.

"Right, because you're a qualified Healer," he snorted. Hermione stared back at him, flushed in the face with vexation.

"No, but I do know rudimentary Healing spells- it's part of the curriculum in Durmstrang," she lied. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he said. Hermione looked around.

"We just need somewhere quiet to go, away from the teachers," she mused.

"The greenhouses are pretty deserted at this time of day," Snape suggested. Hermione held out her hand in as aggressive a manner as such an action can be carried out.

"Fine, then show me the way," she demanded. Snape obeyed her command, and they went off in the direction of the greenhouses. Harry breathed a sigh of relief, and began to run towards where Persephone was, to tell her to keep the fight away from the greenhouses. Then he noticed that there was no way the fight would be able to spread that far, and around the same moment he saw Persephone hex one of the Death Eaters into violent convulsions, he remembered her stern warning. Not fancying the idea of making her angry, he decided it might be prudent to stay where he was.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry saw that the battle was no more. The Death Eaters had retreated, and the Dark Mark was no longer visible in the sky. Students began to cautiously exit the safety of the Hogwarts building, and Harry saw some of the teachers rushing about, clearly wondering what on earth had happened to make the Death Eaters retreat.

In the distance, Harry saw a younger McGonagall talking to a woman dressed in a thick black woollen cloak who was holding the hand of a small bushy-haired girl in red robes. Upon a little judicious squinting, Harry made the tall woman out to be Persephone, and the bushy haired girl to be Hermione. From the body language, it appeared the discussion was a little hostile, though he could hear little of it. Their figures were growing bigger though, so he judged they were walking towards him, and hoped he might be able to catch some of their conversation soon enough.

A sudden hard thud against the left side of his jaw jolted him from his thoughts.

"Oh, I'm sorry, young Harry, I didn't see you there," said an embarrassed Augustine, who had walked straight into him.

"Well, that is the general idea," Harry replied, adjusting his Invisibility Cloak as Augustine was joined by Tonks and Faith, the latter of whom had taken to precariously walking along the cobble path next to the grassy patch upon which Tonks and Augustine were walking across.

"Step on a crack, break your mother's back," Faith lilted to herself, as she walked on tiptoe across each cobblestone. Harry ignored her.

"What are McGonagall and Persephone talking about?" he asked Augustine, who grimaced at his words.

"Persephone's attempting to elucidate exactly why her charge vanished throughout the Death Eater attack, and McGonagall is trying to elucidate exactly why a sudden Death Eater attack coincided with the arrival of Governess Korsivka," he replied, pointedly.

"You mean she suspects Persephone of initiating the attack?" Harry asked, incredulous. Augustine raised his eyebrows.

"Looks that way," he replied. Tonks joined in the conversation at this point.

"That may be a good thing, though," she said.

"How?" Harry asked, the disbelief in his voice poorly hidden. Tonks grinned.

"Because, it'll be a cast iron reason for little Florence to never grace the halls of Hogwarts again- would you send your charge to a school that accused you of working for Voldemort?" she asked, rhetorically, and Harry saw her point.

In fact, it appeared that Persephone had seen her point as well, for she and McGonagall were now close enough to Harry for him to be able to hear their conversation.

"...Are you accusing me of vhat I think you are, Professor?" Persephone blustered, in her Slavic accent. McGonagall looked at her sternly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," she said, sniffily. "However, it does seem odd that the one day representatives from Durmstrang turn up to Hogwarts, so do a small group of Death Eaters. On the one day Professor Dumbledore isn't around- it is a little too coincidental."

At that point, Snape came running up to the group, panting a little from the exertion and clutching what appeared to be a heavy book of some description. Hermione glanced up at him shyly. Professor McGonagall fixed him with a somewhat stern glance.

"Mr. Snape, kindly occupy yourself somewhere else, you can see I'm busy," she remonstrated. Snape cowed a little at the tone of her voice, but remained where he was.

"I wished to speak with Florence, Professor," he announced. McGonagall narrowed her eyes.

"I assure you, Mr. Snape that there is no..."

"Oh, let the boy talk to her," Persephone snapped, "unless you believe she is going to lead him astray, on top of everything else!"

McGonagall sighed heavily.

"Fine, Mr. Snape, but make it quick!"

Snape smiled gratefully, and beckoned Hermione over. She followed him, and the two engaged in a short conversation that was spoken at too low a volume for Harry to be able to hear.

"Vell, I think I shall make it known right now that I haff no intention of sending my vard to such an ignorant, prejudiced school. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Professor!" Persephone raged at a now stunned McGonagall.

"Well, as we have never taken a transfer student on before, it shan't be unusual not to see her again," McGonagall huffed. Persephone fixed her with a furious glare.

"Florence, come!" she ordered, clicking her fingers, and Hermione beamed at Snape, before running back to Persephone, clutching at a big leather bound book with some sort of odd, silver design embossed across the front.

"Ve are going now, my dear," Persephone announced, placing her hand firmly on Hermione's back and pushing her towards the exit, and towards Harry, Augustine, Tonks and Faith, who were heavily obscured from view. Hermione managed to wave at Snape before McGonagall pointed towards the Hogwarts building, and Snape resentfully walked in the direction he had been ordered to, followed closely by McGonagall. Soon, nobody was in the area except for Persephone, Hermione, Harry, Augustine, Tonks and Faith. Harry noticed Faith was currently sitting cross-legged on the grass, and occupying herself by making a daisy chain.

"What's that, Hermione?" Harry asked, pushing gently at the book so that Hermione knew what he was referring to. She shrugged.

"Not sure; it's a book of some description," she replied.

"Did Severus give it you?" Tonks teased. Hermione blushed.

"Well, yes. He said it was sort of illegal to possess a copy in the UK, but the Eastern European legislation was different, and I would be well within my rights to own it. He wanted me to have it, rather than him have to go through the risk of selling it on the black market... can I keep it?" she asked, looking at Persephone, who frowned.

"Hmm, if you threw the book away in this time, Severus would be bound to find it, and I think he'd be a little insulted. Best take it with us- at least that way it will look as though the book made its way to Durmstrang. We'll check out exactly how illegal it is when we get back," she replied. Hermione beamed, and clutched at the book as though it were a cuddly toy.

"Shall we go?" Tonks asked. Persephone nodded.

"Grab those crystals around your necks, everyone, and get ready to use the spell," she commanded.

"I'm not coming," Faith sang, whilst making her daisy chain into a bracelet that wound around her wrist. Augustine grabbed her firmly by the arm.

"Yes you are, my dear," he scolded, and Faith blew a raspberry at him. Augustine dragged her up into a standing position, but she just hung off his arm, like a toddler who refuses to use its legs to walk another step and has to be dragged along by its weary mother. Eventually, she gave in and pulled out her wand as well.

"Right then, on the count of three- one, two, three..."

Everyone chanted 'Finite incantatem' simultaneously, save for Persephone, who chanted 'Dextera, sinistra; Finite incantatem' for the benefit of both her own transducing crystal and Augustine's. Harry felt the same nauseating feelings he had experienced on going back in time, but this time, when he opened his eyes, he was back in Faith's workshop.

Only there were a few more people standing there than had been when he left. 


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Future's Bright...

It took a while for Harry's body to readjust to the sudden shift twenty-two years in time and over two hundred miles in space. However, once his stomach had found its rightful place in his body, and had stopped squirming uncomfortably, he became aware of a rather heated argument going on around him.

"...I tried to stop them, Alex..." Dumbledore was pacing a little, and occasionally shot angry glances towards the two new members of the congregation in Faith's workshop.

"Well, they're here, aren't they?" Alex huffed, looking beyond fury, her sword drawn. Harry followed her cold glare, and found that Cornelius Fudge was standing in the workshop, looking rather officious in his pinstriped suit and green bowler hat. Next to him stood a woman that Harry had hoped never to see again in his entire life.

"Umbridge?" he exclaimed, involuntarily. She looked up at him, but said nothing, though her eyes were clouded with malice.

Persephone took one look at the woman and burst out laughing.

"She taught you Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she asked, once she had suppressed her giggles. Harry nodded.

"Dear oh dear, what a shambles that turned out to be," she remarked, haughtily. Umbridge surveyed her coolly, her toad like features enhanced as she swallowed, and the flabby skin around her neck convulsed with the movement.

"A shambles?" she snorted. "I can see only one 'shambles' around here, and it certainly isn't the Ministry!" She fixed her disdainful glare on the members of the Brethren who were gathered around, shuddered when Augustine raised an eyebrow at her, and looked even more disgusted at the two werewolves currently padding around the floor. One of them had sat by Faith, and pawed her leg gently. She smiled and began to stroke the top of his head, whilst beckoning for the other one to come across, who stubbornly refused to do so. Harry watched the scene with some interest, as Faith continued in her attempts to get the other werewolf to come and sit near her by any means possible- clapping her hands, slapping her legs with her palms, whistling and beckoning... In the end, the werewolf sitting by her lap got up, stalked around the other werewolf until he was behind him, and began to nudge his back gently with his nose, the action becoming more and more insistent the longer the other one refused to move. Eventually, the stubborn werewolf was sliding across the floor as though he were a curling stone, until he bumped straight into Faith's knee, upon which she hugged him around the neck and rested her head on his. The werewolf looked most displeased, and it took Harry very little time to figure out he was Lupin, and the other, more compliant one, was Sam.

Suddenly, Faith met Umbridge's horrified gaze and, inexplicably, burst into loud, fearful sobs.

"Faith, what's the matter?" Alex coaxed, looking concerned.

"They're coming to take me away, they're coming to take me away!" Faith repeated, between her tears, over and over again as though she were a record that had stuck.

Umbridge and Fudge were staring at the girl in utter horror.

"Hamilton?" they cried, simultaneously. Alex stared back at them, and brandished her sword threateningly.

"You so much as try to take her, I'll gut you both like catfish before you move two paces forward," she sneered, not taking her eyes off either of them. From the look on her face, Harry firmly believed she would carry out her threat in an instant.

"I wouldn't expect anything else from a Brethrenite," Fudge said, scornfully, though he made no move towards Faith.

"We look after our own here," Alex spat back.

Persephone was glaring at Umbridge with a look of utter loathing that surpassed anything Harry had ever seen from her father.

"Dolores Umbridge," she snarled. The woman looked a little perturbed.

"Yes, that's right," she replied, sweetly.

"You..." Persephone had balled her fists up, and looked rigid with fury.

"Percy, what's..." Augustine began to ask, but was cut off by Persephone.

"You put her in there!" she screamed, "you..."

Whatever Persephone had said, Harry was fairly certain it wasn't the kind of thing you repeated in polite company. Not that he had heard it, for the struggle that ensued was loud enough to drown out her words. Persephone had tried to launch herself at a now terrified Umbridge, and was only stopped by Augustine grabbing hold of her arms and dragging her away. She tried to pull out of his grip, and kicked and wriggled in an attempt to do so, but Augustine didn't so much as flinch.

"Percy... Percy... Persephone! Calm down, woman!" he ordered, so loudly that the rest of the congregation jumped in shock.

Persephone struggled in Augustine's grip for a short while, before eventually calming down, though her expression was still malicious.

"You put her away, because it was easy," she spat, viciously, "far easier than to accept the truth; accept you'd made a mistake about Macnair all those years ago."

Fudge looked at her haughtily.

"There was concrete evidence- Miss. Hamilton killed Ryan Mitchell... you... you just refused to believe it!" he blustered. Alex raised an eyebrow at him, her expression cool.

"Or rather, you refused to believe that Macnair was capable of putting the Malleable Statue curse on a nineteen year old girl, and framing her for his murder of Ryan. Believing that would prove you were wrong about accepting he had become a Death Eater whilst under Imperius; it would prove that you, Mr. Fudge, had made a mistake." She looked at her nails for a moment, before meeting his flustered gaze once more. "And if I'm not mistaken, the last thing you will admit is that you ever make mistakes," she ended, her eyes still fixed on his.

Fudge had turned crimson with either embarrassment or fury- Harry couldn't quite tell.

"Well!" he huffed, "I... I..."

"How dare you say such slanderous things about our good Minister, you silly little girl!" Umbridge hissed. Alex turned her cool glare upon her.

"I am in my mid-thirties, Ms. Umbridge; I'm not a child. Besides, I was under the impression- correct me if I'm wrong, Albus- that a remark is only slanderous, if it is not the truth," she replied, casually. Dumbledore looked across at her.

"You are quite right, Alex," he replied, serenely, and Harry thought he was trying not to laugh. Alex pulled out a cigarette, lit it with her wand, and took a drag. She fixed her piercing glare back onto Fudge, who looked positively disgusted by her smoking alone.

"The fact that Faith forgets this entire scenario, no matter how many times it is explained to her, is a common side-effect of an excessively strong Malleable Statue curse, I think you'll find. That should really have been proof enough..." She left the suggestion hanging in the air for effect. Fudge brushed down his suit and appeared disgruntled.

"Humph," he snorted, "you're a fine lot to talk about mistakes- I had no idea that going around on random killing sprees on pure-bloods was a good policy for combating You-Know-Who and his armies!"

Umbridge smirked in approval.

Meanwhile, Persephone appeared to have calmed down. She turned towards Augustine, and looked down at her feet.

"Augustine, I'm sorry. I feel awful for losing my temper like that," she said. Augustine smiled.

"It's alright, Persephone. We know how close you and Faith have always been, and how difficult her incarceration- and it's aftermath- has been for you," he replied, loosening his grip on her arm. She smiled.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to apologise to Ms. Umbridge for scaring her so," she said, in a small voice. Augustine let go of her arm entirely.

"Be my guest," he said, beaming up at her.

It took Augustine about five seconds to realise he had been swindled, which was long enough for Persephone to roll her sleeves up, run towards Umbridge and pin her to the floor.

"You stupid old harridan!" she seethed, her voice dripping with hatred of a kind Harry had never heard her express before. "You have got no clue of the damage your procrastination has done, have you! And you!" At this, she stood up and grabbed Fudge's lapels roughly, bunching up the fabric in each fist. "Our methods may have been zealous, but we've had no choice! If you hadn't gone and sulked in your little ivory tower because Voldemort had ruined your precious, cushy stint in office, we wouldn't be in this mess now!"

Umbridge was coughing violently and struggling to pull herself up into a sitting position upon the floor. The scene reminded Harry of watching a turtle that had fallen onto its back. Fudge looked absolutely outraged, and a vein in his neck had begun to throb violently.

"Unhand me, you mad woman!" Fudge bellowed, in an attempt to intimidate Persephone. It worked about as well as Snape's efforts earlier in the school year had, Harry thought to himself, as he watched his sister simply bare her teeth and grab more of his lapels in her fists.

"In case you haven't been bothering to count, you're currently being outnumbered by Voldemort's- flinch again and I'll give you something to effing well flinch about- Voldemort's forces. He's got the werewolves, the dementors, the vampires, the giants and some of the goblins on his side. That means more brute force, more bloodthirsty adversaries and a loss of your own weapons, not to mention a huge drain on your finances- the goblins who are currently watching over the Ministry funds have put most of it into Death Eater accounts across Europe. You are going to lose if you don't swallow your pride and accept help! The Order are a boon, yes- and indeed, we know all about them- but it's not going to be enough. Why do you think there have been relatively few attacks? Voldemort has still been gathering his forces, and let me tell you, it's going to get very, very nasty in the coming months. We need to band together, or we are going to lose this war!" she raged.

"Persephone," Alex said, quietly, tapping her cigarette ash into an ashtray she had conjured. At her words, Persephone finally let go of Fudge. She patted his lapels down, before turning her back on him and walking towards Augustine.

Alex tried to hide a cheeky smile.

"Tell me, Albus, does Persephone take after her father in terms of temperament?" she asked. Dumbledore looked at her and coughed.

"They have both had their moments," he replied. Fudge looked baffled, but a quick glance from Dumbledore soon made it clear that he would get no clarification on the matter.

Alex looked across neutrally at Fudge.

"She's right, you know," she said, calmly. "Voldemort has you at a disadvantage. Thanks to Albus' efforts, and our own- forgive me for blowing my own trumpet- that disadvantage is not a great as it could have been. But the time you wasted last year has had devastating effects. You've lost the support of many species, and most of those have turned to Voldemort, for he has offered them what you have so far failed to deliver- freedom and equal rights."

Fudge opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Alex.

"I know as well as you do that he won't adhere to his promises," she replied, smoothly, "however, neither have you. We have managed to keep alive some of those links- as you can see, we do have some renegade vampires and werewolves amongst our number. We have managed to secure a semblance of trust with the Goblins, too. We would be happy to offer our assistance..."

"Over my dead body!" Fudge retorted. Alex raised her palms in mild rebuke.

"You may well get your wish," she replied, caustically. "It certainly wouldn't bother me. What would bother me is if we lost."

She began to pace the floor slowly, her head held high, as though she were a general addressing her army.

"This war is going to have far-reaching consequences," she announced, "and not just for the wizards, or indeed the Muggles. This war will affect everyone- the centaurs, the house-elves, the werewolves, the vampires, the dementors; every species, every culture you can think of, will be touched by this war, good or bad. First time around," she laughed. "That was just a taster of what Voldemort could achieve. This time, it's for real, and on top of it all, he's almost immortal. His concerns about what we might do are minimal- and not surprisingly, for he has witnessed the slow, uphill struggle the Ministry have had with combating his forces. However, I am certain with time, he will change this viewpoint, and it will be to our advantage. Perhaps we might even help quash his minor fear of this small sixteen year old boy who's been watching our entire debate with some interest."

She looked across at Harry, who felt himself grow uncomfortable under her gaze. Nevertheless, he decided to speak up.

"Is his fear of me a concern?" he asked, feeling a semblance of sarcasm edge his voice. Alex appeared to ignore it.

"It is a great concern," she replied, simply. "One who fears without striving to overcome such fear does not usually set about to dominate an entire continent. He intends to overcome his fear- and by that, I mean he intends to overcome you, Harry." She looked at him not with sympathy, or with pride, but simply as an equal, and Harry felt himself swell with a mixture of feelings upon this realisation. Alex paid no heed to his reaction, as she continued with her soliloquy.

"We have to unite as one and fight. We need to cast off our prejudices, our mistrust; because if he wins, all is lost. If we don't stop this ridiculous hatred," she declared, "we will destroy each other. Maybe not now, maybe not even in the foreseeable future, but our children, and our childrens' children, will have to face the consequences of centuries of hatred spilling out into both our worlds. The wizards will attack the Muggles, and the Muggles will attack the wizards. Now I know you don't believe them to be much of a threat, Fudge," she spat, glaring in then Minister for Magic's direction. "But in place of magic, they have science- most of which is channelled into producing weapons of war. Nuclear warheads, dirty bombs- if this escalates, as we believe it will, between us, we will destroy the entire Earth and all that lives in it. I personally think we have no right to stand back and let that happen."

Dumbledore strode across the workshop until he stood face to face with Alex Ridley. He put out his hand and looked at her, benignly.

"Miss Ridley," he said, respectfully, "I believe I speak for all the members of the Order when I beseech you to offer your assistance to us; having seen what you have achieved, and how you command the respect of many different cultures and races- why, you even command the respect of an ex Death Eater," he chuckled.

Harry looked around at the different members of the Brethren of Tyr that were assembled in the workshop- Muggle-borns, a newly discovered half-blood, a werewolf, a vampire- and was reminded how they represented many of the known wizarding races he could think of, and how they worked together as one with efficiency and camaraderie. He also couldn't help but notice how skilfully Dumbledore appeared to be buttering Alex up.

"We would be most honoured to have you as allies," Dumbledore finished. Alex met his gaze, and looked across at the other members.

"If I have your consent, I would happily accept," she replied, and on hearing no murmur of disapproval, promptly shook Dumbledore's hand.

"What say you, Cornelius?" Dumbledore asked, looking across at the enraged Fudge.

"I do not like the idea of working with such people, especially those who employ someone so young to run their entire organisation!" he spluttered. Alex raised an eyebrow at him.

"I may be young, but this is not a job that suits those who are weary of spirit- and believe me, many of the members grew weary after Voldemort's first defeat. One has to work with what one has, and recruit what one does not. I can assure you, I've rather a gift for tapping into people's potential. Just look at Persephone..."

"You assigned a twenty year old to head a whole department?" Fudge snorted, looking askance at Persephone.

"A twenty-two year old, who co-heads a department with a man eight years her senior," Alex corrected. "You have to admit, it is much easier to get someone to open up to a striking young woman, than a jaded old man. I told you I have an ability to see potential- I must say I'm rather proud of Persephone. She may make mistakes- who doesn't? But she's an expert in improvisation; I have yet to see any of her mistakes cost us a mission- and that I believe to be very important..."

Dumbledore raised his hand.

"If I may add something, Alex- Persephone has enough sense to know when she is being spied on herself," he pointed out. "Plus, she has enough guile to have managed to throw me off the scent once or twice; and I am a man whom it is very difficult to deceive."

Harry thought Dumbledore sounded almost impressed. One look at Fudge's furious countenance suggested that the Minister for Magic did not agree.

"Indeed," Alex replied, still keeping her eyes on Fudge. "Besides; the department she co-heads is just one out of many..."

"Let's not forget the fact that you've just let a lunatic girl torture a Hogwarts Professor and go heaven knows where with a schoolgirl as a hostage!" Fudge ranted. Alex looked at Hermione, then back at Fudge.

"Apologies, but we were also trying to deal with a gigantic breach of our security, which did take precedence," she retorted, glancing at some of the Order members, who appeared entirely unrepentant.

"Anyway, does she look harmed to you?" Alex asked, gesturing towards Hermione, who if anything looked intrigued by the whole situation. Harry had to admit he felt relieved that Fudge seemed to know nothing of the Brethren's time-and-place machine.

Fudge clammed up.

"Well... I suppose not," he admitted, before rounding on Alex once more. "That hardly makes it right!"

Alex sighed.

"I admit we have a soft spot when it comes to Faith," she said. "Today, that got us into trouble. However, lunatic or not, she is still very much a genius, and I for one would be loath to give up such a valuable mind to the four walls of a St. Mungo's hospital ward..."

Fudge sighed dejectedly.

"Much as I disagree with your methods, Miss Ridley, I do believe we have little choice. The Brethren and the Ministry were somewhat at odds during the last War; this time around our efforts together would be greater than if we worked apart," he admitted. Alex smiled.

"Well, welcome aboard, Minister," she said, with a smile. Fudge did not return it.

"Welcome aboard, indeed- if you are working with us, you shall work for us!" he demanded. "You shall be part of the Ministry!"

Alex widened her eyes and smirked humourlessly.

"Oh, not on your life, Fudge," she replied, cynically. "We work with you, or the deal's off!"

"No, Alex," Persephone piped up, her back to the congregation. Alex looked aghast.

"Persephone, what are you suggesting?" she asked, her eyes having narrowed to the point of almost being shut.

"Let us join the Ministry of Magic," Persephone replied, still not facing any of them.

"What, and capitulate our whole organisation for the sake of one man's ego?" she gasped. "I thought you above that, Persephone."

Fudge had puffed out his chest at this remark.

"No, I think she sees the benefits of such compliance. It is you, Miss Ridley, who is allowing her ego to stand in the way of progress!" he announced, gleefully.

"You misunderstand me, both of you." Persephone had turned around at this point, and wore an ugly expression that was a mix of triumph and vindication. "I mean for the Brethren to join the ranks of the Ministry only for a short while- say, a month or so..." She trailed off, and left the half-statement hanging in the air.

Harry looked at Hermione, who had paled for a moment, before grinning broadly; an odd look of both admiration and envy on her face.

"What is it?" Harry asked. Hermione looked at him, her eyes shining.

"I do believe Professor Beauchamp has something up her sleeve," she whispered.

"Indeed I have, Hermione," Persephone announced, and Hermione blushed at having been heard.

"Perce..." Alex began to speak, but was cut off by Persephone.

"I think we'd do well at the Ministry. I think we could orchestrate a few changes." She wandered around the room, and ran her finger along a bookshelf, looking vaguely critically at the dust she removed. "Such as putting forward a vote of no-confidence," she said, smiling, looking directly at Fudge, who had turned ashen.

"No... no... what you're suggesting... it wouldn't work, people want me in power!" he stammered. Persephone looked at him.

"I've looked deep into your eyes; you don't even believe the words you are saying yourself!" she replied, harshly.

Hermione looked at Fudge.

"So, if you force them to join the Ministry's ranks, they will usurp you from power?" she asked, appearing to Harry as though she wanted clarification on her own thoughts.

"I think that is precisely what Professor Beauchamp is implying, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw the old headmaster attempt to hide a smile.

Alex grinned from ear to ear.

"You have to admit, Fudge," she added, "she's a wily old sod, is our Perce."

Fudge sighed.

"Very well, have it your way," he said, wearily. Persephone beamed.

"Well, thank you very much for letting us keep our own..."

Her sarcastic response was cut off by three very surprising words uttered by Fudge.

"Join the Ministry," he said, finally.

The congregation gaped in shock at his words. Harry, who had observed Lupin and Sam's reaction, was gobsmacked himself to discover that transformed werewolves could even show an expression of astonishment.

"Hold on, I don't think I heard that right," Alex said, tapping her ear. "Did you say 'Join the Ministry'?"

Fudge nodded.

"I did. Do what you think is right, Miss Ridley." He walked towards her and, for the first time that afternoon, faced her as an equal. "The coming months are indeed going to be tough- tougher than I suppose I ever really considered. Perhaps I really am not up to it. Perhaps," he sighed heavily. "Perhaps such a burden ought to rest on someone else's shoulders."

Persephone looked stunned.

"Wow," she said, and pushed her gaping mouth shut with her hand. Dumbledore rushed to take Fudge's arm.

"Cornelius," he said, softly, "are you sure about this?"

"I am sure that I should at least find out if the rest of the Ministry share the Brethren's opinion of my work," he replied, simply, before walking towards the exit.

"Wait," Persephone shouted, before running over to Fudge.

"You're more of a wizard that I ever gave you credit for," she said, touching his arm gently. He smiled weakly.

"It's time I trusted the opinions of the many, and not the few," he replied, before turning away to leave, accompanied by Umbridge, and Augustine, who blindfolded them both and led them away.

Alex brushed her hands together.

"You lot had ought to be getting back to school!" she announced, looking at Harry and Hermione.

"What about Ron?" Harry asked.

"We'll pick him up on the way," she replied.

"What about Malfoy?" Hermione asked. Harry looked at her- why did she care?

"Why do you care?" he asked, suspiciously. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I care that he knows the existence of this place, that he knows Professor Snape and Professor Beauchamp are related, that..."

"Alright, you've made your point," Harry replied, cutting her off before she could launch into a full-blown list. Alex smiled.

"You do think ahead, don't you, Hermione? I got Ron to pass on a message to our chief Healer," she explained, with a conspiratorial wink.

"Which would be?" Harry asked. Alex rolled her eyes.

"To modify his memory, perchance?" she reported, although in good humour.

"What about ours?" Dumbledore asked. Alex raised her eyebrows.

"You're offering to have your memory modified? That's very noble of you, Albus, but if we are working together, it would be silly not to know how to contact one another," she replied. Dumbledore smiled.

"Does that include Severus?" he asked.

"Of course," Alex replied.

"You two have a lot to talk about, I suppose?" Dumbledore questioned, gently. Harry felt sure he saw a tinge of pink flush Alex's cheeks, though it was difficult to tell.

"I suppose we do have a history, of sorts," she replied, edgily. Dumbledore smiled.

"Well, I suppose my next job is to introduce you to our numbers."

Alex smiled back at him.

"Then perhaps I shall confer the same privilege onto you," she replied.

Harry was shocked.

"Introduce Dumbledore to your numbers?" he asked, confused as to why she had suggested doing something she had already done. Alex laughed.

"Harry; Persephone, Faith, Augustine and Sam are only a few of our number. We have over a thousand members."

Harry felt his jaw drop. A thousand members?

"How else do you think we've managed to do the work we have, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, embarrassed that he hadn't even considered the Brethren to be so huge. Alex bent down slightly to look him in the eye.

"There are a lot of people who either care about you, or care about what you might achieve. You would do well to remember that," she said, mussing up his hair before striding off to the exit of Faith's workshop.

Harry couldn't believe it. He watched Dumbledore and Alex fall into step with each other, and Persephone followed them, giving Harry a smile that conveyed sympathy and solidarity. Sam and Lupin walked along, nudging Harry in their own display of faith. Tonks walked alongside him.

"It'll all work out, Harry," she whispered.

Even Faith, who skipped along a bit, staring at the ground with interest, had something to say.

"Do you know, they say when you see a star, you're actually seeing the imprint it made on the world three million years ago?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"No, I didn't," he replied. Faith hummed a little before looking up at him, beaming with pride.

"Make your imprint," she replied, in a rare moment of sanity. She looked at both Harry and Hermione with interest, before skipping away.

"See, everyone cares, Harry. We really stand a chance to beat Voldemort," Hermione chided, as she linked arms with his.

Harry smiled. Perhaps... well, he really wasn't alone in this war, after all.

Chapter Thirty: Things Can Only Get Better

The train carriage shuddered as the Hogwarts train went across a particularly bumpy area of railroad track. Harry sighed and looked anxiously across at the door to their carriage, where he could see two students having a heated discussion. Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet lay in his hands, the headline 'Fudge Ousted! Vote of No-Confidence Given Go-Ahead!', and the sub-headline 'Who Will Be Next Minister of Magic?' only partially obscured.

"I'm just going to check on Pigwidgeon," Ron announced, before getting up and walking towards the carriage door where the two arguing students were. Ginny tugged at his sleeve.

"Ron, didn't you put Pigwidgeon in the carriage behind us?" she asked, trying to hide a smile. Ron huffed and adjusted his tie.

"Oh... yes, I did, didn't I?" he replied, in a curious voice, before walking reluctantly towards the back of their carriage. Harry got the distinct impression that he had definitely wanted to check on someone; only it wasn't Pigwidgeon.

Ginny craned her neck to look at the door in front of her.

"Do you think Hermione's okay?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Whether she is or not, we can't exactly go blundering in to find out- that'd just make things worse. Remember, as far as Malfoy knows, the only person who knows about his, ahem..." Harry struggled to find a polite way of phrasing his thoughts. "Indiscretion with Hermione, is Hermione," he replied. Ginny giggled.

"I still can't believe it," she said, "but I would have though the whole thing with that Faith Hamilton woman taking polyjuice, disguising herself as Hermione and almost killing him might have dampened his..."

"Don't finish that sentence, I get the picture," Harry interrupted, quickly, before Ginny had a chance to embellish upon Draco's...rebellion, as Persephone had so decently put it.

"Does Ron know?" he asked, suddenly realising he had the perfect opportunity to find out courtesy of Ginny. She laughed out loud.

"Harry, Hermione is the cleverest witch in the school. What do you think?" she replied, rhetorically. A brief mental image of what Ron would probably do to Draco if he ever found out invaded Harry's brain, and he remained silent. He knew Hermione to be a compassionate person, anyway.

"So, are you going back to your Aunt and Uncle's?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded.

"Sadly, yes," he replied, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him.

"What about Persephone?" she asked, gently. Harry was at first stunned that Ginny had any inkling about his relationship with their current Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, until he remembered the conversation they had last week where he told her just that.

"Well, she says she's staying on as our teacher next year as well, so she says," Harry replied. Ginny laughed.

"Wow, someone's broken the Defence Against the Dark Arts curse!" she joked. Harry nodded.

"It appears so... you don't suppose that means someone else will go?" he asked, only half in jest. Ginny shrugged.

"Don't know. Hope not," she replied. She glanced at the window for a moment before turning her attention to Harry again.

"Why is she staying? Surely her work with, you know, would be more important than teaching us?" she asked, quietly. Harry coughed, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"She says it's mainly to keep an eye on us all- both the Brethren and the Order seem to think Hogwarts could be one of Voldemort's prime targets." He raised his voice a little. "Oh, and she did say that she had something planned for my birthday..."

Ginny giggled.

"Has she told you what? Or is it going to be a surprise?" she asked, enthusiastically. Harry slumped his head on the table.

"I'm a bit concerned as to what a surprise from Persephone will entail," he replied, in mock weariness. Ginny giggled more loudly.

"Maybe she's going to take you to Transylvania- show you how to defend yourself against some real vampires," she replied, chuckling. Harry pulled a face at her.

"Yeah, thanks for that," he replied, with a groan.

The carriage door opened, and Hermione entered. She walked towards them, sat down opposite Harry and Ginny, and smiled with a mixture of joy and serenity.

"Well, what happened?" Ginny asked eagerly. Hermione's expression did not falter.

"Oh, Malfoy said he hates me, and I'd better watch out, because Voldemort's going after the filthy little Mudbloods and he hopes I'm next," she replied, before leaning her head back and sighing happily.

"So, he's gone back to hating you unequivocally?" Harry asked, hopefully. Hermione nodded.

"Yes... yes I rather think he has," she replied, stretching out her arms and flicking through her copy of the Daily Prophet, which she pulled lightly out of Harry's hands.

Ron clambered through the carriage, with an excitable Pigwidgeon flapping in a cage under his arm.

"Oh, so you're back," he said, on glimpsing Hermione. "What did Malfoy want?"

"Oh, the usual," Hermione replied, breezily. "He doesn't remember a whole lot of what happened last month, thank goodness. However, he appears to remember being tricked by someone pretending to be me and thinks it was my idea of a practical joke, so I reckon we can all breathe easily."

Ron cast her an odd glance, then shook his head quickly.

"So, Malfoy doesn't remember anything about the Brethren?" Harry asked, quietly. Hermione nodded.

"Not a thing. Their Healers are evidently skilled in memory charms as well," she replied.

Ron gazed out of the window.

"I hope they sort out a new Minister soon," he said, whilst still staring through the glass. "I don't like the idea of being without a leader at the moment."

"Who's in the running?" Harry asked. Hermione flicked through her paper.

"Basically everyone with a long-standing position in the Ministry- Amelia Bones, Amos Diggory... Ron, did you know your dad was in the running?"

Ron jumped in his seat.

"What?" he asked, clearly shocked by the news. Ginny was already craning over the table and reading the upside-down list of candidates.

"It's true, Ron," she added, by way of confirmation. Ron turned to face her

"Blimey!" he exclaimed, before laughing hysterically.

"What on earth is it, Ron?" Hermione asked. Ron tried to answer, but couldn't produce any audible words. He eventually calmed down and was able to speak.

"I was just thinking- what if, by some miracle of randomness, Dad did get voted in? Malfoy would have a fit!" He laughed again. "Oh, it'd be worth it, if only to see his face!"

"I don't see why you think it so odd, your dad becoming Minister for Magic," a lilting voice said. Harry looked up to see Luna standing at their table. Hermione budged up the seat, and motioned for Luna to join them. Ron looked as though someone had just announced his dad had, in fact, become the Minister of Magic, judging from the stunned expression on his face.

"Dad seems to think he's got a good chance- he's run an article in the Quibbler on it this month," Luna explained, oblivious to Ron's reaction.

"No offence, Luna," Hermione said, "but isn't your dad the only one who thinks Arthur Weasley might be a favourite for the job?"

Luna shrugged.

"Yeah, but who would have thought that Fudge would be ousted from the position?" she countered, twiddling a section of her straggly blonde hair around her left index finger.

"Good point," Hermione replied. Luna sighed.

"We'd better start swimming, or we'll sink like a stone, for the times, they are a changin'," she sang, somewhat pensively. Hermione looked at her.

"Bob Dylan," she commented. Luna shrugged.

"Don't know anyone by that name, is he in your year?" she asked. Hermione struggled with her expression for a few moments, before settling on a friendly smile.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," she said, quickly.

The train zipped past hills and valleys, and Pigwidgeon fluttered helplessly in his cage, whilst the five students fell silent. Harry sighed in irritation. The times they had been a bleeding well changing all year. He was feeling restless, and almost wanted Voldemort to come out and start attacking- at least then he'd know where he stood.

"Do you think Voldemort will begin attacking soon?" he asked, before he even registered the words that had come out of his mouth. The others stared at him in horror.

"Don't know, but I for one can hardly wait!" Ron exclaimed, sarcastically. Harry looked at him.

"You know what I mean," he retorted. Ron shrugged.

"Who knows," he replied.

"Perhaps the Ministry will take the fight to him," Ginny suggested. Luna nodded in agreement.

"It's possible," she explained, "with the Brethren working for them, it might really get the ball rolling. I just hope it's over soon," she finished, in a small voice.

Harry couldn't help it, and squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort.

"And so say all of us," he added.

Neville walked into their carriage at that point.

"Hey, guys," he said, as he reached their table.

"Hi, Neville," they replied, in a slightly shambolic chorus. Neville spotted Hermione's copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Can I have a look?" he asked. Hermione nodded, and handed it over. He flicked through the pages of the newspaper deftly, evidently looking for something that had nothing to do with the new Minister of Magic. Harry though he had a tough job ahead of him- the story about the Minister of Magic was on practically every page.

"I've just noticed something," Ron said.

"Hmm?" Neville asked.

"You've been like this all year- checking up on the 'Prophet, what are you looking for?" Ron asked. Neville didn't take his eyes off the paper.

"I want to see if they've caught her yet," he said, at which Ron looked confused for exactly seven seconds, before a change in his facial features indicated he had suddenly clicked. Harry felt guilty that he had been so wrapped up in his own issues, he hadn't even considered how Neville must have been feeling.

"There's nothing on Bellatrix, mate," Ron replied, quietly. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"I've read it all, and there's nothing. There's been nothing since last June. I'm sorry, Neville," she said, sympathetically.

"Look on the bright side," Luna commented, breezily. "The Brethren have joined the Ministry. They'll most likely find her, and slice her open from the navel to the chin when they do."

Neville's expression was grim.

"If she dies, I want to see it," he replied, simply, but forcefully.

"Wow," Ginny breathed. Neville's face softened.

"I can't help the way I feel- I've tried not to think about it this year, but it's getting hard," he replied.

"Is that why you're here, and not with Dean and Seamus?" Hermione asked, though not in an accusatory way. Neville nodded.

"They don't know about it," he said, before sitting down next to Ron. "I just wish I could do something, you know?" he commented. Harry nodded. He knew exactly how Neville felt. To think it was just one scar that separated their destinies; it seemed wrong, somehow.

"We leave school next year," Harry replied. "We'll be able to fight then, won't we?"

"Of course," Neville replied.

"If it isn't all over by then," Hermione added. Ron looked at her.

"Don't be daft!" he exclaimed, almost amused by her words. "We're at war! Wars take ages! As if it'll be over by this time next year!"

Hermione blushed crimson.

"It isn't that stupid an idea," she mumbled.

There was silence for a short while, which was eventually broken by Neville.

"The Brethren? You mean the people who have forced this vote of no-confidence?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"The same."

Neville's face broke into a broad smile.

"If I ever met one of them, you know, I'd shake their hand," he announced. Harry smiled in agreement, but deliberately made no eye contact with anyone sitting around him.

"Maybe you will, one day," he replied. Neville smiled.

"Yeah, maybe," he said, before turning to face Ron. "Here, I see your dad's in the running for..."

"New Ministry for Magic, it's bonkers, isn't it?" Ron finished, laughing. Neville shrugged.

"He loves Muggles, though- he could be just what we need. Fudge was a bit too much of a pure-blood sympathiser to be much cop in the situation we've been thrust into at the moment, so Gran says," he added.

"Well, whoever we get must be better than Fudge," Harry replied, "I'm sure the Brethren will see to that."

Neville raised his eyebrows at him.

"You seem very confident of their judgement," he replied. Harry smiled.

"Let's just say I've got an idea as to their current working methods," he replied. Neville looked nonplussed.

"We did a bit of research about them in the library," Hermione explained, at which point Luna interrupted her to give Neville a thorough account of the Brethren's 'one thousand year old vendetta' against the Death Eaters.

"Well, as long as whatever they do to Bellatrix Lestrange is slow and painful, I'll be satisfied," he replied, with a hint of venom in his voice. Hermione looked across at Harry and Ron with concern in her eyes, but said nothing.

The train juddered to a halt outside platform nine and three quarters in Kings Cross station, and Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna gathered their things and began to disembark from the train. Except once they had their belongings in hand, they didn't seem to be getting particularly close to any train exits. Crowds of students blocked their way, and it appeared that they weren't moving anywhere, either.

"What's taking so long?" Ginny asked, craning her neck to see what the hold up was. Hermione sighed heavily, and pointed out of the window. Harry leant over to see what she was referring to, and saw at least a score of wizards, all dressed in what appeared to be regulation navy-blue robes with a gold insignia of some sort printed upon the shoulder epaulets. They were running their wands over each student and their possessions, and then escorting them in small groups to their waiting parents, who were being kept from the train by some sort of colourful magical barrier that was glowing a bluish-purple colour. Among the groups of parents, Harry spotted Mrs. Weasley looking anxious, tugging on the sleeve of one of the nearby guards, who appeared to be reassuring her of something. What he couldn't spot, though, was any sign of the Dursleys. The whole thing was strange, though- normally the parents would wait on the other side of the platform portal, anyway.

Eventually, they got to the exit of the train, and Harry found himself being subjected to a humming gold light that emanated from one of the navy robed wizards' wand.

"Okay, if you could just hold out your luggage," the wizard, who Harry could see from his gold insignia, was a member of the 'Ministry Protection Unit'. Harry did as he was told, and the gold humming light was cast onto his baggage as well. Hedwig was most displeased with the proceedings, and hooted angrily in her cage when the gold light hit her. The guard ignored her, and ticked a small box on a parchment he had hovering in front of him.

"Right, now if you'd just enter that group there..." He pointed his wand at a small group of students, of which Ginny and Luna were members. "Then you'll be directed to your guardians."

"But," Harry said, "I can't see them anywhere."

The guard shook his head.

"Then you'll remain with the group until they turn up."

"Can't I just wait for them outside the station?" Harry asked. The guard chuckled.

"On your own? Not likely, sonny- with You-Know-Who on the prowl? And Harry Potter on this train? I don't want to cause alarm, but security has to be tight, know what I'm saying?"

Harry nodded, and tried to swallow away a dry throat, whilst subconsciously patting the hair lying over his forehead that obscured his scar.

He found himself being ushered towards that small group of students where Ginny and Luna were. Ginny waved at him.

"Fun this, isn't it? You know it's partly your fault," she joked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, in mock irritation, before examining the groups of parents and guardians behind the barrier.

"I don't suppose you can see the Dursleys, can you?" he asked. Ginny shrugged.

"I don't know what they look like," she replied.

"The man and boy are fat, the woman's skinny. They'll look like they've been forced to share breathing space with a group of criminals," he said. Ginny giggled.

"Nice family you've got there," she replied. Harry raised his eyebrows at her.

"You know what they say- you can choose your friends, but not your relatives," he replied. This caused Ginny to giggle even more.

"I suppose that really is true," she whispered, "considering you're related to Snape."

"Oi!" Harry retorted, "I'm not related to him at all! I just happen to be related to his daughter- it's a completely different thing!"

Ginny grinned cheekily.

"I know, but you look so cute when you're angry," she whispered back.

"Yeah, funny," Harry retorted, though he felt himself grow uncomfortably red at her remarks.

"Anyway," she continued, "I can't see the Dursleys, but I can see Lupin."

She pointed across at a shabby, worn figure, who upon seeing Harry, raised his hand in a relaxed wave. Harry waved back, and noticed Tonks was standing nearby, the shock of pink hair made him surprised he hadn't spotted her before.

The guard eventually escorted the group towards their respective parents. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Luna exuberantly hug a tallish man with wispy blonde hair, who hugged her back with equal liveliness.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Lupin asked, gently. Harry smiled.

"Yeah, I'm pretty good," he replied, as they were instructed by the ticket guard to pass through the portal into Kings Cross station. Tonks eyed him sympathetically.

"Glad you weren't too shook up about the whole 'Brethren' thing, you know..."

"It's fine, Tonks. I knew about Persephone before that. We're fine- she says she's got a surprise for my birthday," Harry explained. Tonks laughed.

"I dread to think what she's got in mind. She's bonkers, isn't she?" she replied, giggling. Lupin frowned.

"From seeing that Pensieve of hers, Sirius didn't seem to think she was bonkers- and according to Dumbledore, he was rather concerned about her intentions," he replied, darkly. Tonks waved her hand dismissively.

"Come on, she's on the level- Dumbledore knows all about her. Besides, I can tell that, deep down, you just love the idea of keeping it in the family- now we have the Snapes onside as well as the Weasleys..." Tonks grinned broadly, and from that action, Harry could tell she had been goading Lupin about the whole situation for weeks. Lupin did not look amused.

"We have two of the Snapes onside," he replied, calmly, "and I can't say I'm exactly relishing the prospect of working with the both of them. Or the Brethren, but we'll have to see how it goes."

"The Brethren are all right," Harry said, quietly. "Besides, I don't really know what's going on between Persephone and Snape anyway," he added, looking up at Lupin, who sighed, and pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.

"Neither do we, but I get the impression it's a little strained, to say the least. They do stick up for each other a lot, though," he replied. Tonks nudged him.

"Cheer up! It's quite sweet, really. And she really does look like him..."

"Don't say that in front of Fred, he'll do his nut!" a familiar voice interrupted. It was Ron, who had walked over to them, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny, who giggled loudly at Ron's words. Harry laughed too. Tonks and Lupin looked puzzled.

"What on earth do you mean?" Lupin asked. Ron sniggered.

"Never mind, sir," he laughed, prompting Lupin to gently remind him that he was no longer their teacher.

Mr. Weasley patted Lupin on the back.

"All's well, Remus?" he asked. Lupin nodded.

"All's well, Arthur," he replied. Harry was confused for a moment- what were they on about? Then he noticed something else.

"Erm, Mr. Weasley?" he asked. "Where are the Dursleys?"

Arthur Weasley grimaced slightly, as though he were working up to telling Harry something none too pleasant.

"Well, we've had to keep the Dursleys at home- we certainly couldn't have them wandering about platform nine and three-quarters. What with," he lowered his voice, "Voldemort gathering his forces, we think it best they're kept under... observation," he explained. Lupin nodded.

"They're quite fine; they are being watched over by Kingsley and some of his team of Aurors. Not that they're fully aware of this, I just explained to them about Sirius' will, and how he left me as your legal guardian..."

"But you're not my legal guardian, are you?" Harry asked. "I thought he made you my trustee?"

Lupin smiled.

"Well, yes, but they don't have to know that, do they? I think your Uncle was positively relieved he didn't have to venture here again this year," he replied. Harry exhaled sharply.

"So, it's getting more serious, then?" he asked. Lupin shook his head.

"It's got more serious," he replied, simply.

"Which is why I, for one, are relieved we now have the help of the Brethren," Mr. Weasley said. "The two women I met were simply charming..."

Harry sighed and looked across at the Grangers, who were busy greeting their daughter with an affection Harry hadn't ever noticed displayed in public before. Mrs. Granger in particular appeared to be examining her daughter with an expression that suggested to Harry she was amazed she had got through a whole year at school without sustaining any serious injuries.

Draco walked past, holding the arm of his mother in a way that made Harry think he was supporting her weight. A quick glance at Narcissa Malfoy's black walking cane confirmed his suspicions. Harry watched as Draco glared at an oblivious Hermione with a hatred he had never seen him express before, until he turned his attention to Harry. He glowered, and pointed at Harry, before running his finger cross his throat in a mime of slashing his neck. Harry glared back at him and bit his knuckles, pulling a face that was clearly a parody of fear, before rolling his eyes contemptuously. Draco glared back as he walked away with his mother.

"Is everything okay, Harry?" Tonks asked, genially. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, fine," he replied.

Tonks exhaled loudly.

"Shall we go?" she asked. Harry looked at Lupin, who nodded.

"Of course, if you're ready, Harry," he said. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, I just want to say goodbye first," he replied, before walking over with Ron to Hermione.

"Are you two off now?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, we just wanted to say goodbye," he said. Hermione smiled, and drew him into a hug.

"You take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon," she whispered into the crook of his shoulder.

"I will, and you take care too," he whispered back, before letting her go. She smiled at Ron.

"I'll see you soon," she said. Ron nodded, and stepped closer to her. Harry thought he faltered for a moment, but he stayed standing near her.

"Yeah, see you later," he replied. Hermione grinned, and flung her arms around him. Harry couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he saw Ron gasp for breath from the pressure of the hug. He gingerly put his arms around her, and looked to Harry as though he was thoroughly uncomfortable about the whole affair.

Harry caught Lupin's eye, and tapped his two friends on the shoulder.

"I've got to go," he said. Ron let go of Hermione as though she were made of live current.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you soon, mate," he said, with a smile.

"Write to us, won't you!" Hermione more ordered than requested. Harry grinned.

"I'll do my best!" he replied, before catching up with Lupin and Tonks, who were carrying his luggage for him. He took Hedwig from them, and one end of his trunk.

"It's okay, I can manage," he said. Lupin smiled, but didn't let go of the other end of the trunk.

"I don't mind," he said, as the three of them walked alongside each other in the direction of the station exit. 


End file.
